; 


9TOHM 


THOU  SHALT  NOT 

(NEW  SERIES.) 

BY  ALBERT   Ross. 


AUTHOR    OF 


His  PRIVATE  CHARACTER,  "  SPEAKING  OF  ELLEN, 
"  IN   STELLA'S  SHADOW,"  "  WHY    I'M    SINGLE," 
"  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND,"  ETC. 


"  Of  course  it's  unpleasant  when  these 
things  come  into  one  s  own  family  ;  but 
you  knozv  they  do  happen,  and  happen 
every  day.  Ton  my  soul,  were  not  tlie 
ones  who  should  cry  baby." — Page  303. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  G.  S.  SNELL. 


NEW     YORK: 
G.     W.    Dillingham     Co.,    Publishers. 

MDCCCXCVI. 


COPYRIGHT,  1889, 
BY  G.  W.  DILLINGHAM. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1896,  by 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO., 
In  the.  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 

[ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED.] 
Thou  Shalt  Not. 


PHOTOGRAPHS 

OF 

ALBERT   Ross. 

{Cabinet  Stzf,) 

Sent  to  any  address  on  receipt  of  25  cents 
each. 

G.  W,  DILLINGHAMCO., 
33  West  2i>d  Street,  New  York. 


2OG1SG8 


THE  ORIGINAL  PREFACE. 


I  AM  not  a  moralist,  solely.  I  am  a  painter  of 
scenes. 

Given,  a  man  :  A  man  steeped  in  Pleasure,  which 
is  also  called  Vice  ;  breathing  in  Sin  as  other  men 
breathe  air  and  not  rinding  it  disagreeable  ;  a  man  to 
whom  the  word  Conscience  conveys  no  meaning. 
Unveil  to  that  man,  at  one  flash,  his  Soul.  Take  him 
to  a  mountain  top.  Let  his  gaze  rest  for  a  moment 
on  the  barren  moor  whence  he  came  ;  then  turn  his 
startled  eyes  to  the  Elysian  Fields  that  lie  beyond. 
See  him  tremblingly  begin  the  journey.  Paint  his 
former  and  his  latter  self— and  use  all  bright  colors, 
if  you  can. 

That  man  will  have  struggles  ;  he  will  have  back- 
ward slips  ;  he  will  resolve  again  and  again  and  break 
his  resolutions.  If  he  succeeds  in  wholly  freeing 
himself  from  his  entanglements  he  will  accomplish  a 
miracle.  But  suffer  he  must.  And  I  have  painted  a 
sufferer. 

If  Prudery  places  her  skinny  hands  before  her  face 
and  screams  ;  if  roues  swear  the  drawing  is  incorrect 
a  ul  the  shading  too  severe  ;  if  people  who  admit  that 
the  world  has  pitfalls,  but  have  a  constitutional  hor- 
ror of  warning  signs,  say,  "  It  is  so  dreadful,  you 
know,"  I  cannot  help  it. 

My  scene  is  painted.  It  may  have  demerits,  but  I 
know  the  portraits  are  accurate. 

ALBERT     Ross. 


PREFACE  FOR  NEW  EDITION. 


THIS  book  was  published  eight  years  ago ;  two 
hundred  thousand  copies  have  been  sold  ;  the  original 
plates  are  worn  out ;  and  now  we  begin  again. 

Prudery  did  "  place  her  skinny  hands  before  her  face 
and  scream."  She  even  took  my  work  to  a  grand  jury 
and  tried  to  suppress  it.  But  the  jury  refused  to 
listen,  and  the  sale  still  goes  on. 

I  have  no  apologies  to  make.  As  my  purpose 
becomes  better  understood  I  shall  be  asked  for  none. 

For  your  kindness  to  me,  my  million  readers,  I 
give  you  a  million  thanks. 

ALBERT  Ross. 

Cambridge,  Mass.,  Sept.,  1896. 

[vij 


THOU    SHALT    NOT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  day  was  dark  and  gloomy.  Across  the  after- 
noon sky  the  clouds  hung  like  spectral  emblems  of 
mourning.  Occasionally,  through  the  heavy  air,  rain- 
drops fell.  In  the  old  forge,  the  sturdy  blacksmith 
hammered  his  iron  and  drove  his  nails,  carrying  on 
meanwhile  a  conversation  with  the  handsome,  boyish- 
looking  young  man  at  his  side.  The  latter  was  dressed 
in  the  latest  style,  even  to  kid  gloves  and  patent  leath- 
ers. His  fashionable  garb  contrasted  strongly  with 
the  rough  clothing  of  the  farrier,  and  not  less  so  his 
velvety  countenance  with  the  grimy  visage  and  sooty 
arms  of  his  companion.  That  they  should  be  on  such 
evidently  familiar  terms  seemed  strange,  as  two  men 
more  dissimilar  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine. 

"  So  yer  doin'  mi'ty  well  down  in  York  ?"  said  the 
blacksmith,  as  he  paused  a  moment  to  put  his  hand 
to  the  bellows.  "Well,  Walter,  I'm  glad  on't,  an'  I 
know  ye'll  believe  me  when  I  say  it.  When  ye  left 
Spring-dale  two  years  ago,  I  was  awful  set  agin  yer 
goin',  I  won't  deny  it.  I've  seen  so  many  of  our  boys 


8  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

start  off  fer  the  city  that  didn't  come  to  no  good,  that 
I  was  afraid  fer  yer.  Some  on  'em,  who  left  here  jest 
as  pure  as  you,  drifted  back  arterwards  mere  wrecks 
an'  drunkards.  Some  I  could  name  are  doin'  time  in 
the  State's  prison.  It's  an  allurin'  place,  is  York,  an' 
I've  allus  trembled  when  any  one  I  cared  about  went 
thar.  I  do  care  fer  you,  Walter,  an'  ye  know  how  I 
allus  did  from  the  time  when  I  carried  ye  down  here, 
a  little  bit  of  a  baby,  an'  showed  ye  the  fire  thar, 
burnin'  an'  shinin,'  jest  as  it  does  to-day.  It's  a  great 
comfort  to  see  ye  back  agin,  lookin'  jest  like  ye  did 
when  ye  left  here — only  a  little  older,  an'  a  good 
deal  better  dressed.'^ 

The  blacksmith  surveyed  the  young  man  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  affection  and  admiration. 
Then  he  took  the  red-hot  shoe  from  the  glowing 
embers,  and  struck  it  several  times  upon  the  anvil 
with  his  heavy  hammer. 

"  Why,  how  did  you  expect  me  to  look  ?"  laughed 
Walter.  "  You  know  I  never  doubted  that  I  should 
succeed.  My  expectations  were  reasonable.  I  didn't 
think  I  should  become  a  millionaire,  but  I  deter- 
mined not  to  come  back  without  something  to  hold 
to.  All  I  wanted  was  a  good  situation,  with  a  tip-top 
salary,  and  a  chance  to  see  a  little  of  life,  and  that 
I've  got.  I  enjoy  every  second  of  it.  I  wouldn't  ex- 
change two  years  of  New  York  City  for  a  century  in 
this  humdrum  old  town.  Why,  John  Dinsmore,  it's 
really  all  I  can  endure  to  stay  out  my  week's  vacation 
here,  even  with  Clara  and  you,  it  all  seems  so  still 
and  deathlike." 

The  blacksmith  placed  the  crescent  upon  one  of  the 
hoofs  of  the  pony  which  he  was  shoeing,  and  drove 
the  nails  home  carefully,  clinching  each  as  he  pro- 
ceeded. He  had  surveyed  Walter's  eager  face  with 
an  uneasy  expression  as  the  young  man  talked. 
There  was  something  in  Dinsmore's  calm  blue  eyes 


TJIOU    SHALT   NOT.  9 

which  seemed  to  go  far  away  beyond  the  object  upon 
which  they  rested.  When  his  work  was  finished  he 
came  and  sat  down  near  his  companion  and  resumed 
the  conversation. 

"  Yer  sister  has  read  me  a  good  deal  out  o'  yer  let- 
ters, Walter,  and  I  noticed  that  they  seemed  to  be 
full  of  a  man  named  Greyburn.  Ye've  devoted  pages 
to  praisin'  him,  an'  tellin'  what  a  friend  he's  been  to 
ye.  An'  yet  I  don't  quite  understand  it.  Tell  it  all 
over  agin,  jest  as  it  happened." 

"  You  may  well  say  friend,"  cried  Walter,  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  All  my  success  is  due  to  his  kindness. 
If  I  hadn't  met  Hector  Greyburn  the  day  I  entered 
New  York,  my  whole  life  would  have  been  entirely 
changed.  Who  else  would  have  exerted  themselves 
for  a  penniless  stranger  ?  Who  else  would  have  bade 
me  make  his  house  my  home,  and  introduced  me  to 
his  circle  of  acquaintances  as  though  I  was  the  richest 
young  man  in  America  ?  John  Dinsmore,  you  should 
know  Mr.  Greyburn.  He  is  one  man  in  a  million  !" 

u  It  was  on  the  train  that  you  met  him,  wa'n't  it  ?" 
asked  Dinsmore,  not  seeming  wholly  to  share  his 
young  friend's  enthusiasm. 

"  On  my  way  to  the  city — yes.  The  merest  chance 
in  the  world.  He  happened  to  get  aboard  at  a  way 
station,  and  took  a  seat  with  me.  In  five  minutes  he 
knew  that  I  was  going  to  New  York,  a  perfect 
stranger,  to  seek  my  fortune.  He  was  so  frank  with 
me.  'Have  you  any  money?'  'Very  little,'  said  I. 
'  Any  friends  in  town  ?'  '  Not  one.'  '  Any  situation 
in  view  ?'  '  Not  a  situation.'  '  Your  age  ?'  '  Seven- 
teen.' That  settled  it.  I  must  go  to  his  house  till  I 
could  find  a  suitable  place.  Of  course  I  didn't  refuse. 
Wasn't  that  a  chance  for  a  boy  to  meet  with  just  on 
the  threshold  of  the  city  ?" 

It  was  pleasant  to  witness  the  sparkle  in  the  lad's 
eyes,  and  the  glow  which  came  into  his  face  as  he  re- 


10  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

called  this  story  for  the  benefit  of  his  friend.  The 
blacksmith  warmed  a  little  toward  him  as  he  pro- 
ceeded. 

"  But  didn't  ye  think  he  might  be  a  confidence  man, 
or  suthin'  o"  that  sort  ?"  he  asked,  gazing  with  affec- 
tionate regard  at  the  beaming  face  of  the  other. 

"  Ridiculous  !"  laughed  Walter.  "  I  had  only  fif- 
teen dollars  in  the  world,  and  all  my  clothes  and  bag- 
gage wouldn't  have  brought  as  much  more.  Confi- 
dence men  look  for  better  game  than  I  was  then,  let 
me  tell  you.  You  would  only  have  looked  at  him  once  to 
throw  away  all  doubt.  Let  me  describe  him.  He 
was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  and  the  handsomest 
man  I  ever  saw.  His  eyes  were  darkish  gray,  and 
when  he  smiled,  it  was  as  if  the  first  touch  of  the 
morning  sun  lit  up  his  face.  His  hair  was  of  a  beau- 
tiful shade  of  brown.  His  skin  was  as  fair  as  a  girl's, 
and  in  his  cheeks  the  warm,  red  blood  of  health  showed 
freely.  In  height  he  was  a  little  above  the  aver- 
age. Proportioned  like  a  statue,  he  carried  himself 
with  a  grace  which  seemed  entirely  natural.  He  was 
well  dressed.  His  jewelry  was  rich  but  not  flashy. 
Everything  about  him  seemed  to  say,  '  Here  you  will 
find  true  metal.'  Suspect  him  ?  It  would  have  been 
impossible  !" 

Walter  paused  a  minute,  and  looked  out  of  the 
great  door,  to  note  that  the  clouds  were  clearing 
away  and  that  the  shower  was  evidently  ended. 

"When  we  reached  the  station,"  he  pursued,  "Mr. 
Greyburn  took  a  carriage  and  we  drove  to  his  house 
on  Madison  Avenue.  He  said  nothing  as  we  rode 
through  the  streets,  seeing  probably  that  my  eyes 
were  riveted  on  the  unaccustomed  sights  we  passed. 
Everything  seemed  wonderful.  The  great  buildings, 
the  immense  number  of  people  in  the  streets,  the 
noise  and  jar  of  business.  1  was  in  perfect  amaze- 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  II 

ment  before  I  entered  his  house.  And  once  inside, 
I  was  carried  away  completely." 

"  Carried  away  ?"  echoed  the  listener. 

"  Yes,  carried  away.  Not  spirited  off  through  the  air, 
but  simply  dazed  with  wonder.  As  we  went  up  the 
high  steps  the  door  was  opened  for  us  without  any 
knock  or  ring,  and  when  we  reached  the  hall — oh  !  I 
can't  describe  it  !  I  am  seeing  it  now  as  I  saw  it  then. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  veritable  palace  of  Aladdin  ! 
There  were  the  most  elegant  carpets,  furniture,  chan- 
deliers, statuary  and  pictures,  and  by  no  means  the 
least  of  all,  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  I  had  ever  seen, 
closing  the  door  after  us.  In  all  this  splendor  Mr. 
Greyburn  was  as  much  at  ease  as  we  are  in  this  old 
shop.  He  turned  to  the  girl  and  said,  '  Annie,  this  is 
Mr.  Walter  Campbell.  Consider  him  a  guest  of  the 
house  as  long  as  he  desires  to  remain.'  I  was  over- 
powered and  stammered  something,  I  don't  know 
what.  It's  a  mercy  I  didn't  swoon  away." 

The  troubled  expression  had  come  back  to  the 
blacksmith's  blue  eyes. 

"  Was  this  young  lady  his — his  daughter  ?"  he  asked, 
simply. 

"  Daughter  ?  Certainly  not,"  laughed  Walter. 
"  He's  not  a  married  man.  She  was  only  his  door- 
opener  ;  one  of  the  servants.  He  told  me  afterwards 
he  got  her  to  match  the  tints  in  the  frescoing.  Such  a 
man,  John  !  Nothing  too  good- for  him  !  But  up  in 
the  second  story  we  encountered  another  vision  of 
beauty.  '  Nettie,'  said  he, '  this  is  Mr.  Walter,'  and  all 
the  rest  of  it  over  again.  Up  another  flight  we  went, 
and  there  was  another,  more  and  more  attractive,  and 
over  the  introduction  he  went  again.  Then  he 
showed  me  into  my  room,  which  was  the  finest  cham- 
ber I  had  ever  seen.  My  trunk  was  brought  up  by  a 
colored  porter,  after  which  Mr.  Greyburn  said  he 
would  leave  me  to  myself  for  an  hour,  when  he  would 


12  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

call  me  for  dinner.  It  took  me  most  of  that  hour  to 
collect  my  scattered  senses,  but  I  finally  changed  my 
dress  and  got  ready.  Punctual  to  the  time  he  called 
me,  and  we  went  down  to  the  dining-room.  Oh  ! 
that  dining-room  !  John  Dinsmore,  I  shall  never  live 
long  enough  to  forget  how  its  splendors  burst  upon 
my  vision.  Nor  can  I  ever  forget  the  dinner,  nor  the 
beautiful  lady  who  came  in  and  sat  with  us  at  table 
— a  lady,  John,  who  threw  all  the  others  into  the 
shade  as  the  full  moon  does  the  smallest  star  of  the 
evening.  I  can't  describe  it,  I  can't  describe  her,  I 
can't  describe  anything.  It  all  seemed  more  like  a 
dream  than  reality." 

"This  last  lady,"  said  the  blacksmith,  very  slowly, 
and  looking  on  the  ground  as  he  spoke,  "  who  was 
she  ?" 

"  Why,  just  his  housekeeper,"  crjed  Walter,  burst- 
ing into  spasmodic  laughter.  "  Was  there  ever  such 
a  man  ?  An  houri  at  the  door,  seraphs  on  each  land- 
ing, and  an  angel  to  preside  over  them  all.  The  din- 
ner was  perfect,  everything  you  could  think  of,  but 
my  appetite  was  gone.  One  can  eat  any  day,  but  to 
go  at  one  step  from  earth  to  paradise  is  not  a  thing- 
that  happens  any  too  often  to  a  poor  fellow  like  me." 

A  breath,  which  was  almost  a  sigh,  escaped  John 
Dinsmore's  lips. 

"  This  Mr.  Greyburn  must  be  very  wealthy,"  he 
said,  more  as  if  to  hide  what  else  he  had  in  mind  than 
for  any  value  in  the  thought  itself. 

"  Of  course,"  assented  the  other.  "  A  man  couldn't 
maintain  a  place  like  that  on  a  dollar  a  day.  How 
did  he  get  it  ?  I  don't  know.  Inherited  it,  probably. 
Most  of  these  rich  men  do  ;  or  else  they  make  a 
lucky  speculation  and  blunder  into  a  fortune  at  once. 
All  I  know  is  that  he  is  in  no  business,  and  his  hands 
are  as  soft  and  white  as  a  child's.  Everybody  speaks 
of  his  hands,  Why,  mine  aren't  very  ugly,  but  his 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  13 

are  to  mine  like  light  to  darkness.  I  could  look  at 
his  hands  by  the  hour,  John.  You  can  wager  they 
never  did  much  work,  or  they  wouldn't  look  like 
that." 

The  blacksmith's  blue  eyes  rested  for  a  second  on 
his  own  coarse  and  grimy  members,  and  the  mental 
comparison  with  the  picture  which  young  Campbell 
had  drawn  was  not  pleasing.  Then  he  steadied  him- 
self a  little  for  the  question  he  had  been  for  some 
minutes  trying  to  propound. 

"  Does  your — sister — know  all  about  this  ?" 

"  Clara  ?  Why,  certainly.  That  is,  she  knows  all 
the  main  parts  of  it.  Of  course  I  didn't  expatiate  on 
the  beauty  of  the  pretty  women.  You  know  what 
strict  ideas  she  has  of  propriety,  and  she  mightn't 
think  it  looked  just  right  to  have  so  many  of  them 
there  in  a  sort  of  Bachelor's  Hall,  you  know.  For  my 
part  I  can't  see  why  a  handsome  girl  is  any  worse 
than  a  homely  one.  If  Mr.  Grey  burn  fancies  filling 
his  handsome  house  with  handsome  servants,  and  can 
afford  to  do  it,  it's  not  my  business.  Clara  is  the 
dearest  creature  in  the  world,  and  I  love  her  as  much 
as  a  brother  could,  but  she's  a  little  old-fashioned  in 
some  things.  Now,  isn't  she,  John  ?" 

It  was  curious  to  watch  the  apologetic  tone  which 
ran  through  the  young  man's  defense  of  his  New 
York  friend.  His  final  appeal  to  the  blacksmith  went 
unanswered  for  some  moments. 

"Walter,"  said  Dinsmore,  at  last,  "  ye've  got  the 
best  little  woman  in  this  world  for  a  sister,  an'  her 
ideas  of  right  an'  wrong  are  safe  fer  ye  to  f oiler.  Old- 
fashioned  they  may  be,  but  so  is  the  earth  we  live  in. 
That  sky  up  thar  is  old-fashioned.  The  God  who 
made  it  and  the  heavens  beyond  it  arc  gittin'  old- 
fashioned,  too  ;  but  we'll  try  and  believe  in  'em  a 
while  longer  fer  all  that." 

"  Why,  how  sober  you  are  !"  said  the  younger  man, 


14  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

rising  from  where  he  sat,  with  some  uneasiness  in  his 
demeanor.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  offend  you,  John. 
You  know  there's  nothing  in  the  world  would  make 
me  do  that  intentionally.  I  love  Clara  better  than  any 
one  else  loves  her  or  ever  will,  and  that's  why  I  didn't 
write  her  anything  that  I  thought  she  would  dislike 
to  hear.-  If  I  had  supposed  you  would  take  it  in  this 
way  I  wouldn't  have  told  you,  either.  Come  !  You 
don't  hold  it  against  me,  John,  do  you  ?" 

The  far-away  look  had  come  into  Dinsmore's  eyes 
again.  He  hardly  heard  what  Walter  was  saying. 
The  young  man  repeated  his  last  words  : 

"You  don't  lay  it  up  against  me,  John  ?" 

"  No,  no  !  my  boy,"  replied  the  blacksmith,  heart- 
ily. "  I  lay  up  nothin'  agin  ye,  an'  I  hope  agin  no 
man.  But,  Walter,  yer  father  was  as  good  a  man  as 
ever  lived  ;  yer  mother  was  a  good  woman  ;  an'  now 
that  you  an'  Miss  Clara  are  all  that's  left,  ye  owe 
something  to  the  memories  of  them  who  gave  ye 
birth.  She  is  jest  what  her  mother  was,  pure  an» 
sweet  as  the  air  of  the  brightest  summer  mornin'. 
Be  careful,  Walter,  be  very  careful  that  nothin'  comes 
over  ye  to  make  ye  else  than  like  her." 

"  Why,  John,  you  are  eloquent  !  I  never  heard  you 
speak  like  that  before." 

The  unlettered  man  had  indeed  found  expressions 
such  as  had  never  before  passed  his  lips.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  uttered  a  prayer  and  a  benediction. 

There  were  fifteen  years  difference  in  their  ages, 
and  Walter  could  not  recall  the  time  when  Dinsmore's 
forge  was  not  there,  and  Dinsmore  himself  striking 
the  iron  and  pulling  the  handle  of  the  old  bellows. 
When  big  enough  to  go  to  his  first  school  he  used  to 
stop  at  the  old  forge  door,  to  see  with  a  child's  de- 
light the  sparks  flying  from  the  anvil  and  hear  the 
merry  cling-clang  of  the  horseshoes.  As  a  boy  the 
blacksmith's  shop  had  always  been  his  resort  when- 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  I  $ 

ever  he  had  any  trouble  on  his  mind,  and  it  had 
never  failed  to  be  lifted  there.  Who  knew  so  well  as 
John  how  to  set  the  snares,  to  fix  the  traps,  to  find  the 
irst  wild  berries  ?  Who  could  make  better  whistles 
iu  of  willow  or  rig  such  a  cross-bow  ? 

Tne   sky  was  now   entirely  clear   again,   and    the 

ening  sun  sent  his  radiance  like  burnished  gold 
vTer  the  little  forge  and  in  at  the  open  doorway. 
As  Walter  ceased  speaking  a  presence  entered  the 
shop  which  brought  hardly  less  brightness  with  it. 
Clara  Campbell  had  guessed  that  her  brother  would 
go  straight  to  his  old  friend,  and  was  not  surprised 
when  she  found  them  together.  The  little  maiden  was 
indeed  "  as  pure  and  sweet  as  the  air  of  the  brightest 
summer  morning."  Two  years  younger  than  Wal- 
ter, she  had  that  womanly  way  about  her  which 
comes  so  often  to  girls  thrown  at  an  early  age  upon 
their  own  resources.  Looking  not  a  day  older  than 
her  seventeen  years,  she  had  the  air  of  a  woman  of 
twenty.  It  was  easy  to  tell  the  relation  which  she 
and  Walter  bore  to  each  other.  Had  it  not  been,  the 
radiant  smile  with  which  she  met  his  glance,  would 
have  shown  to  any  observer  that  he  was  very  dear  to 
her  indeed. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  she  said,  giving 
her  hand  in  a  perfectly  unconstrained  manner  to  the 
blacksmith.  "Walter  ran  away  from  me  before  I 
had  hardly  looked  at  him,  and  I  knew  he  would  go 
straight  to  your  forge.  Well,  how  does  he  look  ? 
Has  he  not  grown  !  I  really  fear  I  am  almost  too 
proud  of  him  !" 

Dinsmore  dusted  a  chair  and  offered  it  to  the  girl, 
who  took  it  with  a  pleasant  "Thank  you."  The  ad- 
dition to  the  group  seemed  to  have  a  momentary 
effect  upon  his  speech,  for  he  only  smiled  assent  to 
her  words. 

"To  be  sure  I've  grown,"  said  the  brother,  looking 


1 6  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

with  a  smile  into  his  sister's  eyes.  "Did  you  think  I 
was  always  going  to  be  a  little  armful  of  a  thing  like 
you  ?  New  York  is  the  place  to  grow.  I  shall  be  as 
big  as  John  in  two  years  more.  Clara  always  did  ad- 
mire tall,  strong  men,  John.  Muscle  and  brawn  are 
favorites  with  you  ;  eh,  sister  ?" 

"  I  do  like  to  see  men  strong  and  well,"  assented 
Clara.  "  It  seems  the  right  of  their  sex  to  be  strong. 
But  I  do  not  despise  the  weaker  ones.  God  does  not 
make  us  all  alike,  and  surely  He  knows  what  is  best." 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  tall  and  brawny  blacksmith 
brightened  during  Walter's  speech  and  fell  a  little  at 
the  close  of  Clara's. 

"  If  you  want  to  see  a  perfect  specimen  of  manly 
beauty,"  said  Walter,  "  you  ought  to  meet  my  friend 
Greyburn.  I've  been  telling  John  about  him.  He  is 
built  like  an  Apollo,  and  they  say  he  has  the  strength 
of  a  Hercules.  His  hand  is  daintier  to  look  at  than 
yours,  Clara,  and  his  grasp  is  like — well,  like  John's 
here — when  he  chooses  to  put  forth  his  will." 

"  He  has  been  very  kind  to  you,"  said  Clara. 

"  Indeed  he  has.  I  wasn't  in  the  city  a  week,  you 
know,  before  he  got  me  a  clerkship  at  the  City  Hall 
at  one  thousand  dollars  a  year.  In  three  months  that 
was  raised  to  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  in  a  year  to 
two  thousand  dollars,  with  prospect  of  an  increase  in 
the  near  future.  When  I  think  it  all  over  it  seems 
like  a  fairy  tale." 

"  I  can't  comprehend,"  said  his  sister,  with  a  shake 
of  her  head,  "  how  you  can  possibly  be  worth  such  a 
sum  to  anybody.  My  little  brother  earning  two 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  while  I  can  only  get  four 
hundred  dollars  for  teaching  thirty  or  forty  children. 
You  will  certainly  become  rich  and  retire  before 
long." 

"  Rich  !"  ejaculated  Walter.  "  That's  a  very  differ- 
ent thing,  my  dear.  It  costs  a  pile  to  live  in  the  city, 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  I/ 

and  a  fellow  must  go  around  some,  you  know.  I 
haven't  saved  a  dollar  yet,  except  what  I  sent  to  help 
you  pay  the  mortgage  off  the  homestead.  When  I 
get  my  salary  raised  again  I  mean  to  put  by  just  so 
much  every  month,  but  I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  it 
now.  Living  is  very  expensive,  and  there  are  so 
many  things  to  get.  Wh)7,  Mr.  Greyburn  insisted  on 
lending  me  five  hundred  dollars  to  start  with,  as  he 
said  I  needed  that  amount  to  fix  myself  up  so  that  I 
could  go  to  work  at  all.  He  said  in  the  kindest  way 
that  my  dress  might  look  a  little  countryfied  to  the 
other  clerks.  It  was  a  mighty  good  act  of  him.  I 
couldn't  have  borne  to  be  made  fun  of,  you  know,  and 
I  might  have  got  into  trouble." 

Clara  stared  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes,  but  there 
was  more  astonishment  than  chiding  in  her  ex- 
pression. 

"  Of  course  you  couldn't  save  anything  until  you  had 
paid  Mr.  Greyburn  his  loan,"  she  said,  extenuatingly. 

"  But,  to  tell  the  truth,  I've  not  paid  it,"  said 
Walter,  coloring  just  a  little  as  he  saw  his  sister's 
eyes  open  wider  yet.  "  He  told  me  not  to  mind  it ; 
that  he  was  in  no  hurry  whatever.  So  I  gave  him 
my  note,  and  it  hasn't  seemed  to  come  handy  to  take 
it  up." 

Clara's  eyes  encountered  those  of  the  blacksmith, 
and  each  read  in  the  other  the  same  sentiment.  Dins- 
more  found  his  voice. 

"  Ye  ought  to  pay  that  note,  Walter,  if  ye'll  excuse 
me  for  sayin'  so.  You  an'  yer  sister  have  managed 
to  get  the  mortgage  off  o'  the  old  house.  It  was  only 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  but  it  troubled  her,  an' 
she  looked  like  a  new  creature  the  day  the  debt  was 
discharged.  There  were  those  of  us  who  would  'a'  paid 
it  any  moment,  but  she  wouldn't  hear  to  that.  This 
note  o'  yourn  ain't  her  affair,  in  one  sense,  but  I  know 


1 8  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

she  won't  feel  easy  till  it's  paid.  Ain't  I  right,  Miss 
Clara?" 

"John  is  right,  brother,"  replied  the  girl.  "You 
earn  your  own  money,  and  are  doing  well,  and  I  am 
very  proud  of  you,  but  that  note  should  not  stand  a 
day  longer  than  you  can  help.  I  have  a  hundred  dol- 
lars laid  away  that  I  will  be  glad  to  let  you  have 
toward  the  amount.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not 
leave  it  unattended  to." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Walter.  "  If  you  care  about  it, 
I  will.  It  will  put  me  out  a  little  to  do  it  this  year, 
but  let  it  be  as  you  say.  As  to  your  money,  Clara,  of 
course  I  wouldn't  touch  that.  My  salary  is  large 
enough  for  my  own  debts.  No,"  as  the  girl  started  to 
open  her  lips,  "  I  should  not  think  of  it,  so  please 
don't  ask  me  again." 

Whatever  further  protestations  the  sister  might 
have  made  were  cut  short  by  the  sound  of  rapidly 
approaching  wheels,  and  the  quick,  sharp  steps  of  a 
horse  coming  at  speed.  A  moment  later  the  driver 
pulled  up  his  animal  at  the  forge  door  and  leaped 
lightly  to  the  ground. 

Walter  Campbell  sprang  from  his  seat  and  caught 
the  hand  of  the  new  comer. 

"  Mr.  Greyburn  !  is  it  possible  ?  Where  did  you 
come  from  ?  I  supposed  you  were  in  the  city." 

Greyburn  smiled  pleasantly  into  the  face  of  his  im- 
petuous young  friend,  and  was  about  to  reply,  when 
he  caught  sight  of  Miss  Clara,  who  had  risen  at  the 
approach  of  the  stranger  and  was  preparing  to  de- 
part. His  broad  hat  of  Panama  straw  was  immedi- 
ately lifted  from  his  head,  and  he  made  a  profound 
obeisance  as  the  girl  stepped  from  the  doorway. 
His  manner  was  courtly,  but  with  no  trace  of  any- 
thing offensive.  It  seemed  like  involuntary  homage 
paid  to  beauty. 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  19 

"  Clara,"  said  Walter.  She  paused  and  looked  up. 
"  Mr.  Greyburn — my  sister." 

He  did  not  attempt  to  touch  her  hand,  which,  with 
country  politeness,  she  half  offered  him. 

"  I  am  delighted,"  he  said,  "  to  meet  any  relation  of 
a  young  man  whom  I  esteem  so  highly  as  I  do  your 
brother.  I  was  taking  a  drive  through  this  part  of 
the  State,  and  learning  accidentally  that  he  had  gone 
to  his  native  town  on  a  vacation,  I  directed  the  steps 
of  my  horse  thither.  The  creature  cast  a  shoe  a 
little  ways  back,  and  I  stopped  here  to  get  the  dam- 
age repaired.  I  had  no  idea  that  I  should  meet  him, 
and  certainly  not  that  I  should  have  this  additional 
pleasure." 

Miss  Clara  listened  to  this  speech  with  quiet  atten- 
tion. Dinsmore  leaned  heavily  on  one  of  his  ham- 
mers, which  he  seemed  to  have  picked  up  in  a  mo- 
ment of  abstraction,  looking  from  the  girl's  face  to 
Greyburn's  and  back  again,  as  if  he  would  read  their 
inmost  thoughts.  Walter  looked  at  Greyburn  and 
him  alone,  with  admiration  written  on  every  feature. 

"  I  have  often  heard  of  you,  sir,  through  my 
brother's  letters,"  responded  the  girl,  "  and  welcome 
you  to  our  little  village.  You  will  find  Mr.  Dinsmore 
an  excellent  farrier.  Our  cottage  is  but  ten  minutes 
walk  from  here,  and  when  your  horse  has  been  shod 
you  will  let  Walter  conduct  you  there.  I  will  go  in 
advance  and  be  ready  to  receive  you." 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  kind  offer,"  said  Greyburn, 
"  but  I  had  no  intention  of  troubling  you  at  all.  The 
village  hotel  will  answer  for  Robin  (my  horse)  and 
me.  However,"  seeing  in  Walter's  face  a  decided 
negative  to  this  proposition,  "  I  will  make  you  a 
call  on  my  way  to  the  hostelry.  How  long  shall  I  be 
delayed  here,  sir  ?"  he  said,  turning  to  the  black- 
smith. 

Dinsmore  did  not  answer  immediately.     He  was 


2O  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

putting  "  Pet,"  Miss  Clara's  pony,  which  he  had  just 
shod,  into  her  phaeton,  which  stood  under  a  shed  out- 
side the  door.  He  adjusted  the  harness  with  the 
greatest  care,  assisted  the  young  lady  into  the 
vehicle,  and  placed  in  her  hands  the  reins  and  whip. 
When  she  had  bowed  her  good-byes  to  the  company, 
and  disappeared  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  he  deigned  to 
reply  to  the  question.  Not  in  words,  however.  He 
took  the  blooded  beast  from  the  shafts  and  proceeded 
to  the  work  required,  without  uttering  a  syllable. 
Greyburn,  seeing  that  the  shoe  was  being  fitted,  turned 
to  Walter,  and  the  twain  engaged  in  animated  conver- 
sation. When  his  work  was  finished  the  blacksmith 
put  the  horse  back  in  his  place,  and  re-entered  the 
shop,  still  without  speaking  a  word. 

Greyburn  stepped  to  the  horse's  shoulder.  "  Robin," 
he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  a  child,  "let  me  see  it." 

The  intelligent  creature  lifted  his  foot  and  his  mas- 
ter surveyed  the  shoe  critically. 

"  That's  well  done,  my  man,"  said  Greyburn,  ap- 
provingly, turning  to  Dinsmore.  "  Not  a  farrier  in 
the  country  could  have  set  it  better.  In  these  days 
when  there  is  so  much  bungling  it's  a  pleasure  to  see 
a  job  like  this.  Nothing  requires  more  skill  than 
shoeing  a  horse,  and  nothing  is  done  worse  on  the 
average.  I  thank  you,  and  he  thanks  you,  too.  Don't 
you,  Robin  ?  Make  a  bow  to  the  gentleman." 

The  horse  immediately  made  several  inclinations 
of  his  head.  The  action  was  executed  so  perfectly 
that  Walter  laughed  aloud.  The  sight  of  Greyburn 
seemed  to  put  him  in  excellent  spirits. 

"  How  much  shall  I  pay  you  ?"  said  Greyburn,  tak- 
ing out  his  pocketbook.  "  Charge  enough,  now.  The 
job  is  worth  it.  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

"That  is  all  right,"  said  the  blacksmith,  gruffly, 
walking  away  toward  the  farther  end  of  his  shop.  His 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  21 

manner  was  almost  discourteous.  Greyburn  turned 
to  young  Campbell. 

"  Don't  they  charge  anything  for  a  job  like  that  up 
in  these  parts  ?"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  it's  because  you're  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  Wal- 
ter uneasily,  for  Dinsmore's  curt  words  puzzled  him 
not  a  little.  "  I've  known  him  from  childhood,  and  he 
never  would  take  a  cent  from  any  of  our  family." 

"But  he  mustn't  do  that,"  expostulated  the  other. 
"  It's  not  right.  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire. 
I'm  going  to  leave  this  two  dollar  bill  on  the  post 
here,  with  that  bit  of  iron  to  hold  it.  When  he  comes 
to  shut  up  shop  he'll  find  it  and  think  better  of  the 
matter." 

Greyburn  left  the  money  as  he  had  suggested,  and 
entering  the  buggy  with  Walter,  they  drove  toward 
the  Campbell  cottage. 

After  they  had  gone,  John  Dinsmore  sat  down  on 
his  lonely  bench,  and  looked  for  a  long  time  into  the 
far-away  sky.  A  tired  look  as  of  hopes  unsatisfied 
marred  the  lustre  of  his  blue  eyes.  Now  and  then 
his  brows  contracted,  as  unpleasant  thoughts  passed 
through  his  mind.  Once  he  sprang  up  and  grasped 
again  his  heavy  hammer,  as  if  to  use  it  as  a  weapon 
of  assault.  Long  after  his  usual  hour  for  closing  he 
sat  there,  and  no  one  came  to  disturb  his  medita- 
tions. 

When  it  was  nearly  dark  he  rose,  fixed  his  fire, 
drew  the  large  doors  together,  turned  the  key  and 
started  to  leave  the  place.  As  he  did  so,  he  saw  the 
paper  money  lying  upon  the  post.  He  looked  at  it  a 
minute  and  then  the  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  his 
mind.  Mechanically  taking  the  key  from  his  pocket 
he  reopened  the  forge  door.  Stepping  inside  he 
picked  up  a  pair  of  blacksmith's  tongs  and  went 
back  to  the  post.  Then  he  took  the  piece  of  money 
with  his  tongs  and  buried  it  in  the  embers  of  the 


22  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

forge  until  it  was  reduced  to  ashes.  He  closed 
the  doors  again,  locked  them,  and  walked  toward  his 
home  moodily,  with  slow  and  measured  steps. 


CHAPTER   II. 

HECTOR  GREYBURN'S  house  on  Madison  Avenue  was 
not  the  finest  palace  in  New  York,  Walter  Campbell's 
glowing  description  to  the  contrary.  It  was  a  modest 
residence,  with  an  interior  like  that  of  many  others, 
but  with  rather  more  than  the  usual  amount  of  room 
within  its  walls.  Its  furnishings  were  all  elegant,  and 
nothing  that  could  reasonably  be  asked  to  minister  to 
the  tastes  or  add  to  the  comfort  of  its  owner  was 
missing.  He  was  a  good  liver,  happy  and  free  in  hos- 
pitality, with  a  carelessness  of  expenditure  through 
which  ran  a  grain  of  prudence.  To  be  very  wealthy 
had  never  been  the  desire  of  this  man.  To  live  at 
ease  with  a  fair  and  certain  income  was  all  he  asked. 
Had  money  flown  twice  as  freely  into  his  coffers,  it 
had  flowed  twice  as  freely  out.  He  was  an  enigma  to 
all  who  knew  him — at  least,  to  all  but  one.  Where 
he  came  from,  who  his  people  were,  and  whence  his 
money,  were  the  frequent  cause  of  gossip  among  his 
acquaintances. 

Some  knew  he  had  been,  but  a  few  years  before,  a 
mere  clerk  in  the  employ  of  the  municipal  govern- 
ment, with  a  salary  no  larger  than  his  present 
monthly  expense  account  All  at  once  he  seemed  to 
leap  into  opulence.  Had  some  rich  relative  suddenly 
died  and  left  him  a  fortune  ?  Had  he  drawn  the 
grand  prize  in  a  lottery  ?  Was  he  a  secret  and 
successful  gambler  ?  Each  of  these  propositions, 
with  many  others  were  advanced,  and  after  investiga- 
tion rejected  as  untenable.  All  that  was  known  of 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  2$ 

Hector  Greyburn  was  that  he  was  rich,  liberal,  and 
fond  of  pleasure. 

Even  in  his  vices  he  was  prudent.  No  one  ever 
saw  him  intoxicated,  though  he  drank  a  glass  of  good 
wine  when  he  liked.  He  was  never  excited  at  the 
card  table,  nor  could  he  be  persuaded  to  risk  above  a 
small  amount  on  the  turn  of  a  game.  He  kept  but 
one  horse— his  favorite  "Robin  " — which  served 
equally  well  as  a  saddle  or  road  beast,  and  to  which 
he  was  devotedly  attached.  He  had  his  dime  always 
ready  for  the  beggar,  or  his  bankbill  for  the  man  or 
woman  in  distress,  but  he  was  never  reckless  even  in 
his  gifts. 

If  there  was  any  place  where  Greyburn's  generosity 
trenched  on  prodigality  it  was  in  the  entertainment 
of  his  guests.  Nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to 
see  gathered  in  his  dining-room  a  set  of  good  fellows 
who  would  do  justice  to  his  larder  and  sideboard.  If 
the  fair  faces  of  women  were  scattered  about  the 
table  on  these  occasions  he  was  not  less  contented. 
For  two  years  he  had  entertained  on  a  certain  day  of 
each  month  such  a  party,  and  the  gentlemen  who 
met  together  had  organized  themselves  into  an  asso- 
ciation called  the  Greyburn  Club,  of  which  their  host 
was  perpetual  president.  There  were  but  six  mem- 
bers in  the  Club  proper,  but  each  one  had  the  privi- 
lege of  bringing  any  friend  whom  he  believed  would 
enhance  the  pleasures  of  the  occasion.  To  the  young 
men  about  town,  and  to  some  of  the  elder  ones,  noth- 
ing was  more  agreeable  than  an  invitation  to  dine 
with  the  Greyburn  Club.  Reports  of  its  gay  charac- 
ter permeated  all  the  other  clubs  of  New  York,  and 
he  who  could  boast  of  having  attended  one  of  its 
gatherings  became  at  once  a  temporary  center  of  in- 
terest. 

As  previously  stated,  the  membership  of  the  Club 
was  limited  to  six.  That  number  happened  to  be 


24  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

sitting  at  Grey  burn's  table  one  evening  when  the 
proposition  to  organize  was  made.  It  was  voted  then 
and  there  that  the  six  gentlemen  present  should  con- 
stitute then  and  forever  the  Greyburn  Club,  and  that 
no  other  person  should  ever  become  a  member  ex- 
cept to  fill  a  vacancy  caused  by  death  or  resignation. 

First  of  the  six  was  the  president,  Hector  Greyburn, 
already  introduced  to  the  reader,  and  sufficiently  de- 
scribed in  his  young  friend's  eulogy  to  John  Dins- 
more.  Next  we  may  place  Mr.  Jacob  Mendall,  a 
banker  and  near  friend  of  the  host,  aged  about  sixty, 
with  a  well-preserved  frame  and  a  ruddy  complexion 
which,  with  the  absence  of  gray  hair,  showed  fine 
health  and  good  living.  Next,  Clarence  A.  Perkyns, 
Esq.,  a  lawyer  with  a  lucrative  office  practice,  a  bach- 
elor of  five-and-thirty  summers.  Then  Mr.  Otis  W. 
Middleby,  an  attache  of  Mendall's,  who  owned  to  fifty 
winters  and  sported  a  sign  in  a  down-town  building 
announcing  himself  as  a  broker.  Next  Mr.  Chester 
Bolton,  twenty-five  years  of  age,  an  attorney's  clerk, 
who  held  a  firm  conviction  that  the  fickle  goddess  had 
served  him  a  shabby  trick  by  sending  him  into  the 
world  with  a  hungry  mouth  and  compelling  him  to 
undertake  the  job  of  seeing  it  filled.  Lastly,  Mr.  Wal- 
ter Campbell,  who,  when  the  Club  was  formed,  had 
seen  but  three  months  of  city  life,  and  felt  the  honor 
of  his  selection  more  than  all  the  others  combined. 

From  the  day  Walter  entered  Greyburn's  door,  he 
advanced  rapidly  in  the  mysteries  of  those  polite 
vices  which  are  inseparable  from  life  in  a  great  city. 
He  worked  at  his  desk  from  nine  to  three  each  day, 
and  did  what  he  had  to  do  well.  The  rest  of  the 
time  was  his  own.  He  was  entirely  unsophisticated, 
and  embraced  eagerly  his  opportunities  to  see  the  gay 
side  of  New  York  life.  At  first  its  grosser  forms 
repelled  him,  but  step  by  step  he  learned  to  like  what 
he  could  not  once  endure,  and  to  endure  what  he 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  25 

could  not  learn  to  like.  He  found  that  his  benefactor 
smiled  upon  such  peccadilloes  as  came  to  his  notice, 
and  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  city  for  whose  dis- 
pleasure he  cared. 

When  Walter  got  so  full  of  wine  at  one  of  the  club 
dinners  that  he  had  to  be  carried  upstairs  to  bed, 
Jacob  Mendall  interposed  a  mild  objection. 

"  You  should  have  put  in  a  word,  Greyburn,  before 
he  got  so  far  as  that.  Such  a  boy  as  he  is  !" 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Greyburn  lightly.  "  He  must  learn 
for  himself.  He's  got  sense  enough  to  get  tired  of 
that  sort  of  thing  after  he's  tried  it  a  few  times.  I'd 
wager  a  bottle  of  canary,  Jacob,  that  you've  gone  un- 
der the  table  more  than  once  in  your  time,  and  I  can't 
see  as  you're  any  the  worse  for  it." 

Mendall  joined  in  the  laugh  at  his  expense,  and  ad- 
mitted the  imputation.  "  But,"  he  added,  "it  wasn't 
when  I  was  a  boy  like  him.  I  got  my  growth  and  saw 
my  thirtieth  year  before  I  ever  took  enough  liquor  to 
down  me.  That  was  the  way  I  built  up  my  system. 
I'd  like  to  see  enough  go  down  my  throat  to  lay  me 
out  to-day,  though." 

He  dashed  down  a  bumper  of  brandy  as  he  spoke. 

"  Early  or  late  every  young  man  of  the  present  age, 
with  any  life  in  him,  is  going  to  drink  something," 
said  Greyburn.  "  He  may  begin  at  eighteen  like 
Walter,  or  at  thirty  as  you  did,  but  he's  going  to  do  it. 
Let  him  take  his  own  time,  say  I.  Besides,  I  have 
some  notions  about  hospitality,  and  I  would  see  every 
one  of  you  lose  his  power  of  locomotion  and  utterance 
once  each  month  at  this  table  before  I'd  say  a  word 
to  influence  what  you  should  eat  or  drink  here." 

"  Bravo  !"  cried  Chester  Bolton.  "  Three  cheers  for 
Hec.  He's  right,  Jake,  he's  right.  Let's  all  take  him 
at  his  word,  and  get  paralyzed  to-night.  Let's  put 
what-you-oall-its  in  our  mouths  to  steal  away  our 
brains.  Pour  out  one  kind  of  wine  at  a  time,  and 


26  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

we'll  all  begin  at  once.  He  who  goes  down  last  will 
be  voted  to  have  the  most  sense.  Come,  let's  begin." 

But  to  this  Mr.  Perkyns  instantly  demurred.  His 
tastes  were  moderate,  and  a  couple  of  glasses  in  an 
evening  satisfied  his  wants. 

"All  right,  Perk,"  said  Bolton,  with  that  astonishing 
familiarity  which  follows  a  good  dinner.  "  I  know 
you  and  Oat,"  by  which  title  he  usually  designated 
Mr.  Middleby,  "  are  light  drinkers.  Walt  just  pours 
it  down  and  succumbs  easily.  Jake  couldn't  be  filled 
up  if  he  emptied  the  Prince  of  Wales'  cellar,  and  Hec 
never  takes  enough  to  let  us  see  how  it  would  affect 
him.  All  right.  I'll  withdraw  the  motion." 

Walter's  constitution  was  so  strong  that  an  occa- 
sional indulgence  of  this  kind  was  slow  to  make  itself 
seen  in  his  countenance,  and  he  conducted  himself  so 
well  on  his  visit  to  Springdale  that  his  sister  had  no 
cause  to  suspect  the  truth.  That  her  brother  had 
drank  to  intoxication  would  have  seemed  impossible 
to  her.  She  associated  drunkenness  with  filthy  hovels 
and  bar-rooms.  A  drunkard  could  be  known,  she  be- 
lieved, by  his  bloodshot  eye,  his  ragged  attire,  and  his 
staggering  gait.  Walter  was  in  danger  from  the  vices 
of  a  city,  she  had  no  doubt.  But  not  that,  not  that. 

It  was  but  a  few  weeks  before  the  young  man  prof- 
fered his  kiss  to  pretty  Annie  when  she  opened  the 
door  to  let  him  in,  as  he  had  seen  Greyburn  do.  He 
visited  places  of  questionable  repute,  and  associated 
with  a  gay  set  of  dissolute  young  men  who  had  more 
money  than  brains,  and  most  of  them  not  too  much 
of  either.  It  does  not  require  so  long  as  one  might 
think  to  take  the  steps  in  a  city  education  when  one 
has  good  teachers  and  enough  leisure  in  which  to 
study.  Clara's  weekly  letters  proved  a  brake  on  her 
brother's  progress  for  a  little  while,  but  their  influ- 
ence lessened  month  by  month.  As  he  had  said  to 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  2/ 

John  Dinsmore,  he  thought  his  sister,  while  the  dear- 
est creature  in  the  world,  a  little  old-fashioned. 

At  Greyburn's  house  he  learned  rapidly.  The 
conversation  at  the  monthly  dinners  was  not  always 
exactly  what  a  young  boy's  mother  might  like  him 
to  hear  or  to  join  in.  The  women  who  generally 
formed  a  portion  of  the  company  were  not  such  as  he 
would  have  liked  Clara  to  meet.  "  Fine  girls,"  lie 
would  have  told  you,  "  full  of  fun  and  life,  pretty  as 
pictures,  but,  of  course " 

One  evening  he  was  sitting  with  Greyburn  in  the 
latter's  cozy  parlor,  during  his  first  few  months  in  the 
city,  when  one  of  the  housemaids  entered,  bearing  a 
card  on  a  salver.  Greyburn  took  the  card,  read  the 
name,  and  looked  up  as  if  a  little  in  doubt. 

"  Shall  I  show  the  lady  in  ?"  asked  the  girl,  seeing 
that  he  hesitated. 

"  Y-e-s,"  he  replied  slowly,  as  if  in  thought.  "  Where 
is  she  now  ?" 

"  In  the  lower  reception  room,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Show  her  into  the  library.  Or, 
Susanne,"  hesitating  again,  "on  the  whole,  show  her 
up  here.  It  will  make  no  difference." 

"  Shall  I  go  ?"  asked  Walter,  taking  up  his  hat. 

"  By  no  means.  I  would  much  rather  you  would 
remain.  If  June  is  like  what  she  usually  is,  you  will 
be  well  repaid.  Ah  !"  rising  and  extending  his  hand 
to  his  visitor.  "  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the 
honor  ?" 

The  lady  was  of  medium  height,  with  dark  hair 
and  eyes,  and  what  is  often  described  as  traces  of 
former  beauty.  She  was  probably  twenty-seven  years 
of  age,  and  still  attractive.  The  look  of  scorn  which 
she  threw  at  Greyburn,  and  the  gesture  with  which 
she  declined  his  proffered  hand,  added  to  the  im- 
periousness  of  her  general  carriage. 


28  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

"  You  are  sarcastic,  as  usual,  I  see,"  she  said,  taking 
a  chair. 

"  I  ?"  he  repeated.  "  You  mistake.  I  never  am  sar- 
castic. Least  of  all  would  I  be  so  to  a  lady.  But 
allow  me  to  present  you  to  my  friend  here,  who  seems 
quite  amazed  at  your  conduct.  Mr.  Campbell — Miss 
June.  The  one  the  solace  of  my  youth,  the  other  the 
companion  of  my  declining-  years." 

"  God  help  you  if  you  expect  much  from  his  friend- 
ship," said  Miss  June,  bowing  slightly  to  Walter  as 
she  spoke.  "  He  professed  it  for  me  once,  and  it  was 
all  pretense." 

"June,"  interposed  Greyburn,  "you  are  not  fair. 
Upon  my  honor  — 

"  Upon  your  honor  ?"  she  echoed. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,  then." 

"  One  is  worth  about  as  much  as  the  other,"  said 
the  lady,  satirically.  "  Your  honor  or  your  word  are 
things  which,  if  you  ever  had  them,  were  squandered 
long  ago." 

Walter  looked  with  some  astonishment  at  the  never- 
fading  smile  which  appeared  on  Greyburn's  face 
under  the  harsh  words  and  vindictive  manner  of  his 
visitor. 

•  "  How  very  often  you  have  told  me  that,"  said  Grey- 
burn,  yawning  a  little.  "  Don't  be  prosy  to-night, 
June.  Have  you  nothing  new  ?" 

"  To  think,"  she  proceeded,  "  that  I  could  ever  have 
loved  such  a  creature  !  I  despise  myself  for  it." 

"And  that,"  he  said,  in  the  same  bantering  tone, 
"  you  have  also  told  me  before.  If  it  was  a  matter  of 
guessing,  I  should  say  I  had  heard  it  word  for  word — 
well — probably  a  thousand  times." 

She  had  risen  and  begun  to  pace  the  floor,  but  she 
turned  fiercely  at  the  last  sarcasm.  Drawing  from 
her  pocket  a  small  ivory-handled  pistol,  she  said  : 

"  I  bought  that  thing  to  kill  you    with,      I  don't 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  29 

know  what  keeps  me  from  doing  it.  I  will  some  day. 
Don't  you  believe  it  ?" 

She  flourished  the  weapon  within  arm's  length  of 
his  face.  Walter  started  to  intercept  her,  but  was 
stopped  by  a  wave  of  Greyburn's  hand. 

"  If  that  is  a  question,"  he  answered,  with  the  great- 
est nonchalance,  "  as  much  as  I  dislike  to  differ  from 
a  lady,  I  must  answer,  No." 

"  You  don't  ?"  she  cried,  approaching  nearer,  and 
apparently  beside  herself  with  rage. 

"  You  will  certainly  get  hurt  with  that  thing,"  he 
went  on,  deliberately,  "if  you  persist  in  carrying  it. 
Only  last  week  I  read  of  a  man  who  was  fatally  in- 
jured by  a  revolver  which  he  was  handling.  Take 
my  advice,  June,  and  exhibit  more  prudence." 

She  put  the  pistol  back  in  her  pocket  with  a  ner- 
vous action,  and  resumed  her  seat.  Her  excitement 
showed  itself  in  her  nervous  hands,  and  the  pit-pat 
which  her  feet  kept  up  on  the  carpet. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  to  Walter,  presently,  not 
deigning  to  address  herself  long  to  Greyburn,  "  what 
sort  of  a  man  it  is  whose  friendship  you  have  been 
honored  with  ?" 

"  Get  her  to  tell  you,  Walter,"  said  Greyburn. 
"  You  will  find  it  entertaining.  It's  a  tiresome  story 
to  me,  but  to  you  it  will  have  the  charm  of  novelty. 
You  see  June  is  an  old  and  dear  friend  of  mine.  Old 
in  the  sense  that  we  have  known  each  other  many 
years,  and  dear  in  every  sense.  She  is  feeling  a  little 
unhappy  this  evening  over  something,  and  when  she 
feels  that  way  she  always  comes  down  here  and  be- 
stows her  charming  presence  on  me.  She'll  tell  you 
the  whole  story  of  our  early  acquaintance,  with  plenty 
of  delightful  embellishments  of  her  own.  If  you're 
not  bored  by  that  sort  of  thing,  you'll  find  her  inter- 
esting. 


30  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  He  is  a  villain  !"  cried  the  lady,  in  great  excite- 
ment. 

"  I  don't  deny  it,  Walter,"  said  Greyburn,  his  smile 
broadening.  "  It  may  or  it  may  not  be  true.  But, 
coming  with  such  unction  from  those  charming  lips, 
how  can  I  dispute  it.  Excuse  me.  I  interrupt." 

"Listen  to  me,  young  man,"  said  Miss  June. 
"  Twelve  years  ago  I  was  an  innocent  girl  living  in  a 
country  town.  I  was  fifteen.  He  was  eighteen.  He 
ruined  and  abandoned  me." 

"  Triumphed  over  your  virtue  is  the  correct  ex- 
pression," interposed  Greyburn.  "  The  other  is  obso- 
lete and  never  used  now  in  polite  circles." 

"  We  came  together  to  this  city,"  pursued  the  lady, 
not  noticing  the  irony  which  Greyburn  used.  "I 
trusted  to  his  manhood  and  his  honor  to  support  and 
protect  me  here.  We  hired  an  attic,  and  lived  for  a 
week  on  what  we  could  get.  He  never  tried  to  get 
work.  I  knew  that  when  our  last  penny  was  gone  we 
must  separate.  I  could  not  bear  to  lose  him — wretch 
as  he  was — and  I  sold  my  soul  to  buy  him  bread." 

"  A  fantastical  expression,"  mused  Greyburn,  as  if 
to  himself,  "  and  quite  meaningless,  but — en  regie* 
Let  it  go." 

Walter  listened  with  eager  attention. 

"  One  evening  I  went  out  in  the  streets  with  the  last 
dime  I  had  in  the  world,  to  buy  as  usual  a  morsel  of 
food  for  our  breakfast.  A  man  accosted  me.  I  was 
desperate.  After  midnight  I  crept  back  to  my  room 
like  a  frightened  criminal.  He  was  asleep !  In  the 
morning  when  he  woke  (for  I  never  closed  my  own 
eyes),  I  showed  him  money,  expecting  that  he  would 
rave  and  cry.  And  he  never  said  a  word 7" 

The  lady  rocked  herself  backward  and  forward  for 
a  minute,  while  a  half  sob  issued  from  her  lips.  Wal- 
ter looked  at  Greyburn,  and  saw  that  the  smile  was 
still  about  his  mouth. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  3! 

"  How  I  loved  him  then,"  she  continued,  raising 
her  clasped  hands,  "you  may  guess  when  even  that 
exhibition  of  his  character  did  not  induce  me  to  leave 
him.  When  the  money  was  gone  I  met  the  man 
again.  He  was  rich.  He  gave  liberally.  Hector 
and  I  left  the  attic  and  took  a  pretty  furnished  room. 
We  dined  at  restaurants.  Though  I  knew  he  loved 
me  no  longer,  those  days  seemed  like  heaven.  Every 
dollar  I  got  I  gave  to  him  ;  and  he  took  it.  He  took 
it!  One  night  I  came  home  and  found  that  he  was 
gone.  He  had  left  a  note  bidding  me  good-bye  and 
saying  that  he  should  not  return.  I  found  out  after- 
ward why  he  went.  The  man  to  whom  we  owed  our 
living  had  met  him  and  bribed  him  to  go.  He  got  one 
thousand  dollars  for  me.  Good  heaven  !  A  slave  in  a 
Turkish  harem  would  have  been  valued  higher  !" 

Walter  looked  at  Greyburn,  expecting  surely  now 
to  hear  his  prompt  denial.  But  there  was  the  smile, 
just  the  same,  and  no  sign  that  he  questioned  her 
statements. 

"It  is  true,  Walter,  what  she  says,"  said  he.  "I 
did  get  one  thousand  dollars  for  her,  and  I  considered 
it  a  good  bargain.  I  wanted  money.  Her  new  lover 
had  plenty  of  it.  He  wanted  her.  I  didn't.  What 
could  be  more  sensible  than  an  exchange  ?  I  believe 
I  had  the  best  of  it ;  though,  to  do  June  justice,  Mr. 
Moneybags  didn't  think  so  !  no,  nor  doesn't  to-day  ; 
for,  would  you  believe  it?  she  is  with  him  yet." 

"  I  shall  always  wonder  how  I  lived  through  the 
days  which  followed,"  continued  Miss  June.  "For 
six  weeks  I  was  in  a  raging  fever." 

"  And  has  been  raging  ever  since,"  laughed  Grey- 
burn.  "  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Walter  ?  For  these 
dozen  years  she  has  given  her  love  to  this  man  she 
speaks  of,  eaten  his  bread  and  worn  the  clothing  and 
jewelry  he  provides,  and  you  will  see,  if  you  take  notice, 
that  they  are  very  good  ones.  How  she  must  hate 


32  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

her  'Turkish  harem!'  How  she  must  sigh  for  the 
little  miserable  hamlet  from  which  I  rescued  her,  and 
the  attic  where  we  went,  and  the  penny  rolls  on 
which  we  tried  to  live.  Ah  !  these  women,  Wal- 
ter !  Always  complaining,  always  unhappy,  always 
wronged  !" 

"  If  I  have  succeeded  in  saving  myself  from  the 
street  it  is  not  his  fault,"  said  the  lady.  "  What  did 
he  care  what  became  of  me  ?  He  was  through  with  his 
plaything,  and  he  tossed  it  away.  Look  at  him  now.  Liv- 
ing like  a  Prince  in  a  house  which  cost  no  one  knows 
how  much  and  on  money  got  no  one  knows  how  !  Is  it 
not  enough  to  make  one  doubt  the  justice  of  Heaven  ?" 

"Well,  if  June  has  finished,"  said  Greyburn,  rising 
and  walking  meditatively  up  and  down  the  room, 
"  I'll  say  a  word.  Her  story  is  substantially  correct, 
in  this  way  :  If  you  look  at  anything  with  a  colored 
glass  the  objects  which  your  eyes  encounter  will  be 
colored  also.  If  I  look  at  the  sky  with  clear  glass  and 
you  with  black  glass,  and  you  say  there  is  a  cloud 
there,  I  will  agree  with  you  ;  but  if  you  say  it  is  a 
dense,  black  cloud,  and  it  appears  to  me  a  white, 
fleecy  cloud,  we  shall  disagree.  She  has  put  in  the  very 
darkest  shade  possible  everywhere.  When  I  was  eight- 
een years  old,  Walter,  I  wasn't  an  unhandsome  young 
fellow,  though  it  may  take  a  violent  effort  of  your  imag- 
ination to  conceive  it.  She  was  a  deuced  pretty  girl,  as 
any  one  who  sees  her  this  evening  will  swear  she 
must  have  been.  She  fell  in  love  with  me.  I  couldn't 
blame  her.  She  wasn't  the  first  girl  who  had  done  so, 
and  she  wasn't  the  last,  by  a  good  deal.  Don't  let  me 
seem  egotistical,  my  boy,  but  pretty  women  have  al- 
ways fluttered  toward  me  as  doves  do  toward  their 
keeper.  I  never  had  to  do  more  than  stretch  out  my 
hand  and  they  were  there.  When  I  concluded  to 
start  for  New  York,  June  must  go  too.  Nothing  would 
persuade  her  to  let  me  leave  her  an  hour.  What 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  33 

could  I  do  here,  unknown  and  penniless  ?  I  went  and 
looked  at  the  wharves.  Would  she  have  had  me  a 
stevedore  ?  I  climbed  stairs  and  asked  for  work. 
Doors  were  shut  in  my  face.  One  man  offered  me 
two  dollars  a  week  to  take  care  of  a  horse  and  cow  in 
the  suburbs.  Should  I  have  accepted  it  ?  I  saw  our 
pittance  growing-  smaller  and  no  prospect  of  more. 
What  would  have  followed  I  do  not  know,  but  one 
morning  I  awoke  to  find  money  in  my  hand.  Was  I 
to  ask  questions  which  might  prove  unpleasant  ?  One 
day  old  Moneybags  met  me  and  took  me  out  to  din- 
ner. He  had  fallen  in  love  with  June  and  wanted  her 
all  alone  by  himself.  He  ended  by  offering  me  the 
thousand  dollars.  Was  I  to  refuse  it  ?  Not  I.  I 
knew  she  was  safe  in  his  hands  and  I  was  glad  when 
the  money  was  safe  in  mine.  I  went  my  way.  That 
week  of  poverty  had  taught  me  discretion.  That  dis- 
cretion, properly  applied,  has  brought  me  ease  and 
comfort.  As  she  says,  Nobody  knows  how  I  get  my 
money,  but  as  it  is  Nobody's  business,  Nobody  need 
not  mind. 

"Oh,  he's  a  saint,  there's  no  doubt  of  that,"  said 
Miss  June,  rising  and  arranging  her  dress  for  de- 
parture. "  With  a  few  pretty  phrases  he  would  tear 
down  the  wall  of  condemnation  which  I  raised  about 
him.  I  see  by  your  face,  Mr.  Campbell,  that  you  are 
converted  by  his  sophistries." 

"  Must  you  go  ?"  asked  Greyburn.     "  So  early  ?" 

"  I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  evading  his 
question,  "  that  Mendall  wishes  to  see  you  without 
fail  at  his  office  to-morrow  morning  by  ten  o'clock. 
Some  business  matter  is  troubling  him." 

"  I  will  be  there,"  said  Greyburn.  "  I'm  glad  he 
makes  the  appointment  at  his  office.  I  am  horribly 
afraid  every  time  he  comes  here  that  he  will  fall  in 
love  with  one  of  my  chambermaids,  and  that  would 
put  your  nose  out  of  joint.  You  see  how  thoughtful 


34  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

I  am  for  you,  June.  There  !  It's  all  out  now  ! 
Walter  knows  who  Mr.  Moneybags  is.  Well,  never 
mind.  Mendall  wouldn't  care." 

"  If  you  must  leave  us,  good-night,"  he  added,  as 
her  touch  was  on  the  handle  of  the  door.  "  But, 
June,  you're  not  going  to  leave  without  a  parting  kiss. 
After  all  these  hard  words,  just  one  little  kiss." 

She  looked  at  him  strangely  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  as  if  moved  by  an  impulse  she  could  not  resist, 
she  stepped  to  his  side  and  raised  her  lips  to  his.  In 
her  dark  eyes  the  tears  had  risen  till  they  nearly  over- 
flowed the  lids. 

"Oh  !  not  for  me  !"  cried  Greyburn,  with  a  light 
laugh,  and  retreating  a  step.  "It  wouldn't  be  right 
for  me,  June,  under  the  circumstances,  considering 
my  relations  with  Mendall.  I  was  only  speaking  for 
Mr.  Campbell." 

She  dashed  the  tears  upon  the  floor  and  for  a 
moment  looked  as  if  she  could  tear  him  in  pieces. 
He  stood  there  with  the  provoking  smile  still  lurking 
on  his  handsome  mouth.  Gradually  she  came  to  her- 
self again,  and  turning  away,  hastily  left  the  room 
and  house. 

"  Come,  Walter,"  said  Greyburn,  turning  to  his 
almost  dazed  companion,  "  let's  go  down  to  the  parlor 
for  a  game  of  euchre."  Adding,  as  they  reached  the 
staircase,  "  Do  you  like  to  see  a  woman  in  tears  ?  I 
don't." 


CHAPTER  III. 

IN  one  of  Grey  burn's  many  rambles  through  the 
country  he  met  with  a  young  gentleman  lately  gradu- 
ated from  the  Andover  Theological  School,  and 
intending  after  a  short  period  of  travel  and  rest  to 
enter  some  pulpit  of  the  Congregationalist  denomina- 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  35 

lion.  This  gentleman's  name  was  Arthur  Reycroft. 
He  was  the  scion  of  a  very  old  and  wealthy  family, 
and  had  been  carefully  trained  from  childhood  with 
a  view  to  the  profession  he  was  expected  to  embrace. 
Being  gifted  with  superb  health  and  excellent  spirits, 
the  course  he  had  passed  through  did  not  succeed  in 
making  him  a  prig.  Few  better  oarsmen  lifted  the 
blades.  Few  could  leap  a  fence  easier  or  ride  a  horse 
at  a  faster  pace.  In  salt  water  or  fresh  he  could  swim 
an  hour  without  fatigue.  In  short  he  was  a  likeable, 
athletic  fellow,  who  seemed,  when  his  spirits  were 
aroused,  as  little  like  the  conventional  idea  of  a  clergy- 
man as  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 

Arthur  Reycroft  had  never  in  his  life  committed 
knowingly  a  deliberate  sin,  and  in  this  he  did  not  con- 
sider that  he  had  done  anything  entitling  him  to 
praise.  He  had  after  all  acted  out  his  nature  in  the 
school  in  which  he  had  happened  to  be  brought  up. 
That  there  was  such  a  thing  as  Sin  in  the  world — and 
a  great  deal  of  it — he  did  not  doubt,  for  was  it  not 
written  in  every  line  of  his  collegiate  course  ?  He 
had  often  argued  to  himself  that  in  order  to  grapple 
successfully  with  this  monster,  a  clergyman  should 
obtain  more  than  a  superficial  knowledge  of  the  thing 
with  which  he  had  to  deal.  The  minister  who  ex- 
claimed against  the  theatre,  for  instance,  never  hav- 
ing been  himself  within  one's  walls,  seemed  to  Rey- 
croft like  a  man  aspiring  to  teach  navigation,  never 
having  been  to  sea.  He  determined  before  setting 
himself  up  as  a  preacher  to  take  a  look  about  the 
world  and  observe  it  awhile  for  himself.  He  meant 
to  know  what  Sin  was  by  actual  observation,  no  mat- 
ter into  what  places  the  necessities  of  discovery  might 
lead  him.  It  was  not  necessary  that  he  should  plunge 
into  the  mire,  but  he  meant  to  see  how  and  why 
others  fell,  in  order  to  learn  the  best  way  to  rescue 
them. 


36  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

Some  of  these  ideas  Mr.  Reycrofi  communicated  to 
Hector  Greyburn  one  evening  as  they  were  riding 
their  horses  slowly  down  a  pass  in  the  lower  Catskills. 
They  had  become  the  best  of  friends  and  chatted  with 
perfect  unrestraint.  Their  views  were  diametrically 
opposed,  but  each  gave  to  the  other  the  same  right  of 
opinion  which  he  himself  claimed. 

"  Let  me  place  myself  at  your  service,"  Greyburn 
said.  "  With  me  for  a  pilot  you  will  steer  your  bark 
among  more  sinful  shoals  than  you  ever  dreamed  ex- 
isted. Pay  me  a  visit  in  New  York  city  for  a  month, 
and  I  will  show  Sin  to  you  in  all  its  forms,  and  I 
won't  go  outside  of  the  Battery  nor  above  Harlem 
river,  either.  Sin  !  We'll  revel  in  it.  We  will  have 
Iniquity  for  breakfast,  Wickedness  for  lunch,  Crime 
for  dinner,  and  horrors  of  all  kinds  to  sleep  on.  Or, 
I  could  make  you  up  a  little  special  itinerary,  like  this  : 
Sunday,  Drunkenness  ;  Monday,  Assault-and-battery  ; 
Tuesday,  Arson  ;  Wednesday,  Burglary  ;  Thursday, 
Kidnapping ;  Friday,  Suicide ;  Saturday,  Murder. 
Bless  you,  Reycroft,  I'll  fill  you  full  of  it.  It's  all 
done  within  three  miles  of  my  house,  every  week  the 
sweet  sun  shines  on." 

"I  fear  you  are  right,"  said  Reycroft,  with  a  touch 
of  sadness  in  his  tone.  ''And  then  there's  another  sin, 
worse  in  my  mind  than  all  the  others,  because  more 
far-reaching  and  terrible  in  its  results,  that  of  un- 
chastity." 

"  Oh!  that  ?"  said  Greyburn,  with  a  laugh.  "  That 
you  can  have  all  the  week.  If  you  call  that  a  sin,  it 
never  ceases." 

"7/1  call  it  a  sin,"  echoed  Re)rcroft,  stopping  his 
horse  short  in  the  road.  "  ~Why,  don't  you  ?" 

"  At  the  risk  of  your  riding  away  like  mad  and  call- 
ing for  help,  I  must  answer  in  the  negative,"  said 
Greyburn.  "  It  has  only  become  a  misdemeanor  be- 
fore the  law  on  account  of  a  puritanical  folly  which 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  37 

animates  our  statutes.  Anything  can  be  made  a 
crime  by  the  consent  of  a  few  fools,  with  the  aid  of  a 
sheet  of  paper,  a  drop  of  ink,  and  a  bit  of  sealing  wax, 
but  that  doesn't  prove  that  it's  a  sin.  For  instance  : 
By  one  of  the  city  ordinances  it  is  forbidden  to  pick  a 
flower  in  the  park,  and  yet  if  I  pick  one  when  nobody 
is  looking,  I  don't  feel" guilty  of  anything  heinous." 

"  But  you  will  admit  that  even  this  little  ordinance 
against  picking  flowers  in  the  park  is  a  wise  pro- 
vision," said  Reycroft,  eagerly.  "  Because,  if  it  were 
not  for  that,  the  flowers  would  all  be  stolen,  and  the 
pleasure  they  give  to  so  many  would  be  destroyed." 

"  It's  a  bad  simile,"  laughed  Greyburn.  "  For  the 
women,  though  loved  ever  so  incontinently,  do  not 
disappear,  but  continue  to  fill  the  earth  with  their 
loveliness.  We  are  born  with  a  natural  taste  for 
beauty — at  least  I  know  /  was — and  has  any  one  a 
right  to  shut  me  out  of  the  whole  floral  kingdom  when 
my  senses  long  so  eagerly  for  the  rose  and  the 
lily  ?" 

"  You  can  have  your  one  rose  or  one  lily,  legally 
and  honorably,"  said  Reycroft,  solemnly. 

"  Yes — one,"  responded  his  companion.  "Just  one. 
And  supposing  I  don't  like  it  after  I  have  got  it.  Sup- 
posing I  get  a  rose  and  discover  that  I  should  have 
had  a  lily  or  a  violet  or  a  daisy.  No  escape  for  me  ! 
No  exchange  with  some  man  who  has  made  a  similar 
mistake.  It's  too  hard  a  condition,  Reycroft;  and 
flowers  so  plenty  in  this  world,  too." 

"You  are  wrong  Greyburn,  quite  wrong,"  re- 
sponded the  young  clergyman,  starting  his  horse 
again,  "  and  your  readiness  of  repartee  won't  save 
you.  If  you  will  really  spend  a  month  with  me  in- 
vestigating the  sin  of  the  metropolis,  I  think  that  I 
can  show  you  that  half  of  it  all  comes  from  violations 
of  the  SEVENTH  COMMAND." 

"'  All    right,"    replied    the    other.     "  I'll   give   you 


38  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

leave.  But  you  must  be  an  honest,  unprejudiced  in- 
vestigator. Throw  your  dogmatic  notions  one  side 
and  assimilate  only  what  you  actually  prove  worthy. 
Don't  bring  everything  to  your  orthodox  grindstone 
to  sharpen,  but  take  it  as  it  is,  and  I  will  look  for  a 
fair  verdict  when  you  have  examined  the  whole 
case." 

"You're  really  serious  in  what  you  say  ?  In  your 
heart  of  hearts,  removed  from  all  considerations  of 
personal  desire,  do  you  believe  there  is  no  sin  in  un- 
chastity  ?" 

"Just  as  much  as  there  is  in  drinking  a  cup  of  this 
water,"  said  Greyburn,  dismounting  and  handing  a 
dipper  full  of  the  clear  sap  of  the  hills  to  Reycroft. 
"  In  that  draught  you  are  taking,  were  a  million — 
more  or  less — of  little  lives.  They  have  been  sacri- 
ficed to  give  you  a  temporary  gratification.  Their 
microscopic  organisms  have  been  ravished  because 
you  were  the  stranger  and  had  the  will  to  do  it.  If 
there  is  a  God — and  I  won't  say  I  doubt  it — He  cares 
as  much  for  the  smallest  animalcule  as  he  does  for  the 
Reverend  Arthur  Reycroft.  He  has  created  it  with  a 
wonderful  organism,  endowed  it  with  life  and  liberty, 
and  it  was  going  on  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  when 
you— unfeeling  creature— cut  short  its  brief  career." 

Notwithstanding  the  gravity  of  the  subject  in  Rey- 
croft's  estimation,  Greyburn's  apostrophe  to  the  ani- 
malcule was  too  much  for  his  gravity,  and  both  men 
burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"We  are  taught,"  said  the  clergyman,  presently, 
"  that  the  lower  creatures  were  made  for  the  use  of 
man.  Their  lives  are  not  to  go  on  through  eternity 
like  ours.  They  fulfill  their  destiny  here  and  give 
way  to  new  creatures  who  are  to  follow  them." 

"  Made  for  man,  are  they  ?"  echoed  Greyburn. 
"All  the  lower  animals  made  for  man!  What  do 
you  do  with  panthers  and  crocodiles  and  great 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  39 

crawling  snakes.  What  particular  good  to  man  does 
the  sand-fly  do  ?  Mosquitoes,  gnats,  and  the  red  ants 
that  crawl  into  your  boots  when  you  step  into  the 
woods  to  take  a  nap — mighty  valuable  they  are  to 
man's  peace  and  comfort  !  Supposing  you  should 
meet  a  tiger,  some  fine  evening,  around  these  parts. 
Do  you  think  that  he  would  take  your  statement  that 
the  lower  animals  were  made  for  man,  or  would  he  go 
to  work  like  a  sensible  beast  and  stow  you  away  in 
the  interior  of  his  striped  body  ?  It's  an  old  fable, 
Reycroft,  and  a  foolish  one.  It  arose  out  of  the 
vanity  of  man,  and  had  no  other  inspiration  than  a 
desire  to  magnify  his  own  importance.  It  took  just 
as  much  time  to  make  an  anaconda  as  it  did  Adam. 
I  believe  every  creature  that  was  ever  made  was  in- 
tended to  go  off  and  enjoy  life  on  his  own  account. 
And,  by  that  moon  that's  rising  over  there  so  clear 
and  bright,  I'm  going  to  enjoy  mine." 

"  Let  me  put  it  in  this  way,"  said  Reycroft.  "  Do 
we  not  owe  a  greater  regard  to  our  own  race  than  to 
any  other  ?  Would  you  think  it  as  grave  an  offense 
to  kill  an  ox  as  you  would  to  dispatch  a  man  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Greyburn,  "  and  that  is  an- 
other instance  of  our  cursed  selfishness.  Why  do  we 
not  more  frequently  kill  each  other  ?  The  inclination 
is  doubtless  often  felt  to  do  murder,  either  for  revenge, 
to  remove  unpleasant  people  from  our  path,  or  to  se- 
cure goods  which  belong  to  others.  But  there  stands 
in  the  way  always,  like  a  grim  and  watchful  sentinel, 
the  fear  of  punishment.  Could  oxen  levy  criminal 
process,  impanel  juries,  and  bring  the  destroyers  of 
their  race  to  justice,  we  should  respect  their  rights  as 
we  do  those  of  our  own  people.  We  take  advantage 
of  their  ignorance  to  steal  their  labor  and  take  at  our 
pleasure  even  their  lives.  It  is  our  cowardly  method. 
We  do  to  them  what  we  would  not  dare  if  they  could 


40  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

They  rode  on  together  slowly,  in  order  the  better  to 
converse.  The  clergyman  was  astonished  at  the  ideas 
advanced  by  his  companion.  While  not  in  the  least 
convinced,  he  was  nevertheless  much  entertained. 

"  Do  you  dispute  that  the  sin  of  which  we  speak 
causes  distress  and  misery  ?"  asked  Reycroft. 

"  No.  It  may  cause  both.  It  may  cause  neither. 
Eating  causes  our  teeth  to  decay,  but  shall  we  there- 
fore never  eat  ?  This  is  a  peculiar  world.  We  must 
take  it  as  we  find  it.  If  the  fruits  we  like  best  are  on 
the  tallest  trees  we  must  climb.  If  they  are  on  the 
lower  branches  and  we  can  pluck  them  without  effort, 
very  well.  Now,  Reycroft,  you  are  an  honest  young 
fellow,  full  of  your  mother's  milk,  and  so  dreadfully 
good  that  anything  I  say  won't  hurt  you  What  have 
I  seen  in  New  York  since  I  have  been  there  ?  This 
thing,  forbidden  by  the  Seventh  Command,  cursed  by 
the  church  and  condemned  by  the  law,  is  as  common 
as  violations  of  the  statute  against  profanity.  Why, 
I  know  of  a  minister  who  denounces  this  sin  with  all 
his  eloquence  in  the  pulpit  of  a  Sunday,  and  goes 
Monday  to  meet  a  paramour.  I  know  a  judge  who 
executes  the  sentence  of  imprisonment  on  the  hapless 
adulterers  brought  before  him,  and  keeps  his  private 
mistress  in  the  suburbs.  The  police,  who  are  sworn 
to  enforce  the  law,  pat  the  pretty  girls  of  the  pave  on 
the  shoulder  and  accept  their  caresses  in  exchange  for 
immunity  from  arrest.  Society  is  honeycombed  with 
it.  To  one  like  you  it  is  almost  past  belief.  Now 
what  does  it  all  argue  ?  Why,  that  the  law  is  against 
public  sentiment  and  should  be  abolished.  That's 
the  way  I  see  it.  I  would  take  it  off  the  statute  books 
and  out  of  the  church  creeds,  as  a  thing  which  can 
neither  be  prevented,  nor,  except  in  rare  cases,  dis- 
covered, and  whose  punishment  is  in  consequence 
senseless  and  unfair." 

"You  would  have  a  fine  task   before  you,"  said  Mr. 


THOU.  SHALT   NOT.  41 

Reycroft.  "  The  first  thing  you  would  have  to  get 
would  be  a  message  from  Sinai,  declaring  that  one- 
tenth  of  the  law  given  to  Moses  has  been  abrogated." 

"Oh,  no  !"  laughed  Greyburn.  "  Only  that  it  had 
been  suspended,  like  the  commandment  against 
covetousness  ;  or  merely  reserved  for  occasional  use, 
like  that  against  bearing  false  witness." 

"  You  are  incorrigible,"  said  Reycroft,  pleasantly. 
"  But  while  I  differ  from  you  I  quite  admire  your 
frankness.  The  vice  of  the  time  is  deception.  Nearly 
every  one  seems  to  think  it  necessary  to  '  assume  a 
virtue  '  before  men  of  my  profession.  This  fact  hides 
from  us  much  of  the  true  condition  of  the  world. 
You  are  doing  me  a  service  in  removing  a  part  of  the 
veil." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Greyburn.  "  You're  quite  wel- 
come, I'm  sure.  If  you'll  accept  my  invitation  to 
spend  a  month  in  the  city,  with  my  house  as  the 
central  point  of  observation,  I'll  lift  all  the  reils  you 
like.  I'll  show  you,  too,  that  they  are  all  made  of 
one  material — illusion.  When  may  I  expect  you?" 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  responded  Reycroft,  "  and  I 
will  accept  your  offer  in  the  spirit  which  prompts  it. 
Say  the  first  of  October  ;  how  would  that  do  ?  I  think 
I  shall  finish  my  rambles  by  that  time  for  this 
season." 

"  The  first  of  October  let  it  be  then,"  said  Greyburn. 
"  You  have  a  month  yet  to  prepare  your  moral 
physique,  for  let  me  tell  you  it  will  receive  some 
severe  blows.  For  thirty  days  you  must  expect  a 
series  of  shocks  varying  in  intensity,  and  occurring  on 
the  average  every  three  minutes.  At  my  house  there 
assembles  on  the  first  Thursday  evening  of  each  month 
a  set  of  fellows  who  call  themselves  the  Greyburn 
Club.  You  shall  be  introduced  to  them  without  a 
word  in  reference  to  your  calling,  and  be  a  witness 
to  their  freedom  from  conventional  restraints.  You 


42  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

must  receive  what  you  see  and  hear  as  the  young- 
matriculate  does  the  first  blood  which  his  scalpel 
draws,  as  a  necessity  to  the  end  you  seek.  There  will 
be  ladies  present  also,  oh  !  yes  !"— delighted  at  the 
young  clergyman's  sudden  flush — "  and  plenty  of  the 
wine  which  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man.  I  pledge 
you  my  word  that  we  shall  introduce  no  novelties  on 
your  account,  but  shall  have  our  dinner,  wine  and 
conversation  exactly  as  we  always  do.  I  will  show 
you  the  happy  side  of  Sin — a  side  you  ministers 
never  allude  to.  If  it  be  true  that— 

"  '  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  a  mien 
As  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  seen,' 

you'll  find  no  vice  there.  Or  if  you  do,  you'll  have 
better  spectacles  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"  Why  don't  you  finish  the  quotation  ? 

"  '  But  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face,'  " 
"  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Greyburn. 

"  '  We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace.' 

"  Well,  that  may  have  been  Pope's  way,  but  it  isn't 
the  style  at  the  Greyburn  Club.  We  have  no  trouble 
to  endure  after  we  have  once  embraced,  and  our  pity 
is  reserved  for  those  foolish  mortals  who  live  in  the 
hard,  harsh  atmosphere  of  the  outside  world." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  first  Thursday  in  October  found  the  Rev. 
Arthur  Reycroft  installed  as  a  guest  at  Hector  Grey- 
burn's  house  on  Madison  Avenue.  He  had  passed 
the  ordeal  of  seeing  his  host  salute  pretty  Annie  at 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  43 

the  door  and  give  a  similar  greeting  to  Nettie,  Su- 
sanne  and  the  rest,  as  they  went  upward  to  the  par- 
lor. He  had  had,  in  a  hundred  little  ways,  an  insight 
into  a  life  unlike  anything  he  had  ever  before  known. 
And  within  an  hour  he  had  admitted — to  himself — 
that  were  it  not  for  Conscience  and  its  uneasy  prompt- 
ings, a  man  might  be  very  comfortable  indeed  in 
those  lodgings. 

The  first  arrival  of  the  party  expected  to  dinner 
was  Mr.  Walter  Campbell.  This  young  gentleman 
grasped  Greyburn's  hand  with  great  effusiveness,  and 
Mr.  Reycroft's  with  no  less,  on  his  being  presented 
under  the  name  of  Mr.  Arthur. 

"You're  in  luck,  Mr.  Arthur,"  said  Walter.  "These 
little  dinners  are  the  pleasantest  things  in  the  world, 
and  you'll  never  forget  them.  You're  fond  of  the 
girls,  of  course?  Always  find  plenty  of  nice  ones 
here,  sir.  Each  one  a  prize  bird.  Eh,  Greyburn  ?" 

Mr.  Reycroft's  embarrassment  for  an  answer  was 
relieved  temporarily  by  the  advent  upon  the  scene  of 
Mr.  Chester  Bolton,  whose  form  appeared  at  the  door, 
and  whose  voice  called  out,  in  tragic  tones  : 

"  How  now,  ye  secret,  black  and  midnight  hags, 
what  is't  ye  do  ?" 

"Ah  !  Grabe,  old  boy,"  he  proceeded,  "excuse  me. 
Didn't  see  there  was  a  stranger  present.  Happy,  I'm 
sure.  What  name  did  you  say — Arthur?  Ah,  yes  ! 
I  thought  so.  You  must  excuse  my  Shakespearean 
quotations.  I  am  a  lover  of  the  stage,  sir.  An  ama- 
teur actor,  I  may  say.  My  head  runs  full  of  it.  Do 
you  admire  the  theatre,  sir  ?" 

"  I  admire  Shakespeare,"  replied  Mr.  Reycroft, 
with  pardonable  evasion. 

"  Ah  !  Of  course  !  Who  doesn't,  sir  ?  Shake  is 
the  prince  of  the  lot  !  Great  mind,  that  Shake,  sir. 
Poet,  too.  What  a  range  !  Rome  and  Jule.  Mac. 
Three-Eyed-Dick.  What  a  diff  !  and  yet,  in  Shake's 


44  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

own  words,  "  How  express  and  ad  !  Give  me  Shake, 
every  time.  Eh,  Walt  ?" 

Mr.  Campbell,  being  thus  appealed  to,  expressed 
his  preference  on  the  whole  for  the  ballet,  and  in- 
stanced the  Black  Crook  as  his  idea  of  a  first-class 
drama.  The  arrival  at  this  juncture  of  Messrs.  Jacob 
Mendall,  Clarence  Perkyns,  Otis  Middleby,  and  rap- 
idly succeeding  them,  a  dozen  or  more  other  gentle- 
men, put  a  stop  to  the  discussion  of  theatrical  sub- 
jects, in  which  Mr.  Reycroft  must  soon  have  been 
hopelessly  stranded. 

Introductions  were  made  in  all  directions,  and  the 
gentlemen  were  chatting  familiarly  among  them- 
selves, when  the  last  guest  arrived,  Mr.  William  W. 
Pickett,  a  wealthyyoung  manufacturer  from  a  Massa- 
chusetts town,  whose  errand  at  the  dinner  was  not 
wholly  unlike  that  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Reycroft.  Mr. 
Pickett  was  a  man  of  strong  religious  convictions, 
Superintendent  of  the  Sunday  School  and  President 
of  the  young  men's  Society  for  Religious  Instruction 
in  his  village.  He,  like  the  clergyman,  was  a  "  chance 
acquaintance"  of  Greyburn,  and  had  been  invited  to 
the  dinner  in  much  the  same  manner  as  the  other. 
"Just  to  see  and  not  to  touch,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

At  last  Williams,  the  faithful  colored  steward-of- 
the-household,  announced  that  the  table  was  ready, 
and  the  party  proceeded  to  the  dining-room.  Grey- 
burn  occupied  the  head  of  the  table,  with  Mr.  Rey- 
croft on  his  right  and  Mr.  Pickett  on  his  left  hand. 
When  all  were  seated,  he  touched  a  bell  which  stood 
before  him. 

Instantly,  at  the  signal,  the  door  opened,  and  a  line 
of  handsome  young  women  entered  noiselessly,  and 
took  their  places  in  the  rear  of  the  chairs.  They 
were  dressed  in  white  muslin,  adorned  with  ribbons 
of  various  hues,  and  in  their  hair  the  same  colors  were 
conspicuous.  Well-rounded  arms  showed  from  be- 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  45 

neath  the  short  sleeves,  and  a  glimpse  of  stocking  was 
visible  where  the  skirt  just  missed  touching  the  slip- 
per. The  utmost  propriety  was  observed  by  each  as 
they  proceeded  to  serve  the  dinner,  and  everything 
would  have  gone  on  without  remark,  had  not  Walter 
Campbell,  happening  to  glance  at  the  faces  of  Messrs. 
Reycroft  and  Pickett,  been  so  struck  by  the  expres- 
sions there,  that  a  hearty  laugh  was  forced  from  him 
in  spite  of  himself. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,  all  of  you,"  he 
said,  upon  recovering  himself,  "  and  especially  of  you, 
Mr.  Arthur.  It's  an  awful  habit  I've  got  into  of 
laughing  whenever  anything  happens  to  take  me  just 
so."  And  at  that  he  went  off  into  another  spasmodic 
fit  of  merriment,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  several 
times  repeated  his  belief  that  he  should  die,  and  that 
he  had  better  retire  until  he  could  get  control  of  his 
risibles. 

"You  are  perfectly  excusable,"  volunteered  Mr. 
Reycroft,  "and  I  beg  that  you  will  not  think  of  leav- 
ing the  table  on  my  account.  I  am  entirely  new  to 
your  circle,  and  shall  doubtless  give  occasion  for  more 
mirth  yet  before  we  adjourn.  Be  assured,  gentlemen, 
I  take  it  all  in  good  part." 

At  this,  Walter  sobered  himself  completely,  and 
rising  to  grasp  Mr.  Reycroft's  hand  across  the  table^ 
declared  that  gentleman  the  best  fellow  in  the  world, 
and  the  one  for  whom  he  entertained  of  all  men  the 
deepest  affection. 

"  If  I  laugh  again  may  I  be — blest,"  he  said.  "  I  first 
sat  at  this  table  two  years  ago,  and  I  was  laughing 
more  than  anything  else  to  think  how  it  all  struck  me 
then.  If  nobody  laughed  at  me  it  was  owing  to  their 
better  breeding.  If  Greyburn,  here,  wasn't  a  perfect 
prince,  he'd  have  thrown  me  overboard  months  ago." 

But  the  host  immediately  disputed  this,  and  stated 
that  he  liked  above  all  things  to  see  perfect  freedom 


46  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

among  his  guests.  He  hoped  that  every  one  would 
feel  free  under  that  roof  to  do  exactly  as  he  pleased. 

"When  a  gentleman  does  me  the  honor  to  visit  me," 
he  said,  in  conclusion,  "  I  put  the  house  at  his  dis- 
posal. I  say  to  him,  Act  yourself.  Be  yourself.  If 
your  inclination  leads  you  to  eat,  there's  the  larder. 
If  to  drink,  there's  the  sideboard.  If  you  wish  to 
smoke  your  cigar  in  the  parlor,  or  put  your  feet  on 
the  piano,  do  it.  You  are  here  for  your  own  enjoy- 
ment, not  mine.  Eat  what  you  like,  drink  what  you 
like,  do  what  you  like — kiss  the  waiter  girls  if  you  wish 
to." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  threw  his  arm 
around  the  buxom  Susanne,  who,  as  mistress  of  cere- 
monies, stood  nearest  him,  and  imprinted  a  warm  kiss 
on  her  ruby  lips,  which  she  received  as  a  nowise  un- 
pleasant gift.  Nettie,  who  stood  by  Mr.  Kendall's 
chair  ;  Marie  at  Mr.  Bolton's  ;  and  each  of  the  others 
in  their  several  places,  were  treated  in  like  manner 
without  restraint.  Little  Annie,  who  was  waiting  on 
young  Campbell,  was  half  smothered  in  the  impetuous 
embrace  which  he  gave  her.  Allie  and  Florry  alone 
doing  duty  at  the  chairs  of  Mr.  Reycroft  and  Mr. 
Pickett  respectively,  stood  with  half-bowed  heads, 
puzzled  at  their  exemption  from  the  general  tribute. 

"  It's  a  forfeit  for  you  both  !"  cried  Walter,  de- 
lighted, bursting  into  laughter  again.  "  It's  a  rule  of 
the  house  that  we  must  follow  Grey  burn  in  every- 
thing. Allie,  poor  child,  don't  cry  !  Florry,  sweetest, 
I'll  kiss  you  myself." 

The  laugh  went  round  the  table.  Greyburn  was 
regarding  Mr.  Reycroft  attentively.  The  young 
clergyman  was  the  picture  of  surprise  and  uncer- 
tainty. The  rich  blood  flushed  his  cheeks,  and  his 
eyes  sparkled  a  little,  as  if  he  had  been  drinking 
champagne.  He  half  rose,  and  for  an  instant  the 
host  was  afraid  he  should  lose  his  guest.  Indeed,  the. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  47 

thought  that  he  ought  not  to  remain  was  formed  in 
Reycroft's  mind  ;  but,  encountering  Greyburn's  smile, 
he  seated  himself  immediately. 

"  You  will  excuse  rne,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  if  I 
ask  to  be  excepted  from  following  this  particular 
custom  of  the  house,  which  has  an  entire  novelty  to 
me.  Mr.  Greyburn  knows  that  I  came  here  to  see 
and  to  listen.  I  would  not  prove  a  damper  011  your 
festivities,  but  for  myself  I  must  ask  some  special 
exemptions." 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you,"  said  Greyburn,  looking 
around,  "  that  Mr.  Arthur  is  the  most  intensely  moral 
man  alive.  While  the  best  of  fellows  in  most  re- 
spects, his  education  in  some  important  matters,  has 
been  sadly  neglected.  In  fact,  you  will  understand 
his  position  here  better  when  I  tell  you  that  he  has 
probably  never  kissed  a  girl  in  his  life." 

"  Good  Gawd  !"  cried  Chester  Bolton,  striking  an 
attitude.  "  An'  dost  thou  think  because  thou  art 
virtuous  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale  !  Such 
ignorance  in  this  Nineteenth  Century  is  positively 
shocking.  'Tis,  'pon  my  word.  I'll  betcher  a  fippenny 
bit  there  ain't  a  similar  case  down  in  the  books 
anywhere." 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  spoke  up  Mr.  Pickett.  "  Here  is 
one  ;  and  I  trust  to  Heaven  there  are  many  more 
even  in  this  city  of  sin." 

"  Doubtless  you  are  right,"  said  Greyburn,  laugh- 
ingly. "  The  sun  has  shone  upon  this  earth  with 
unabated  heat  for  millions  of  years,  and  yet  there  are 
some  places  where  eternal  ice  and  snow  continue  to 
exist.  Once  in  a  while  an  iceberg  breaks  away  from 
the  frozen  pack  and  floats  southerly  until  it  melts  in 
the  sweet  bosom  of  the  warmer  seas.  Such  bergs 
are  our  two  friends,  and  I  trust  that  they  will  not 
invert  nature  by  returning  unmelted  to  their  native 
north,  J  know  them  both  to  be,  in  the  words  of  the 


48  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

dramatist  whom  our  friend  Bolton  quotes  so  frequently, 
'  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow,'  and  I  felt  it 
my  duty  to  show  them  the  equatorial  clime  in  which 
we  dwell.  I  tried  to  begin  in  the  mildest  manner, 
when  I  instituted  our  game  of  forfeits.  Gentlemen, 
I  appeal  to  you,  could  I  have  commenced  my  treat- 
ment more  delicately  ?" 

"  Impossible  !"  said  Walter  Campbell. 

"  Impossible  !"  echoed  up  and  down  the  table. 

"  You  see  you  are  out-voted,"  said  Greyburn,  turn- 
ing to  his  nearest  guests  alternately. 

"  We  are  crushed  by  superior  numbers,"  admitted 
Mr.  Reycrof  t,  pleasantly,  "  but  not  convinced  by  any 
means  that  you  are  right  and  we  are  wrong." 

Mr.  Bolton  thereupon  declared  that  there  were  not 
two  sides  to  the  argument.  "  Oh,  I  could  fight  with 
you  upon  this  theme  until  mine  eyelids  would  no 
longer  wag,"  he  said.  "  That  is  Shake's  expression, 
not  mine,  but  it  meets  the  case  exactly." 

"  All  is  forgotten  and  forgiven  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned," said  Greyburn,  "  though  it's  the  first  time, 
I'll  venture  to  say,  that  a  woman  was  ever  injured  in 
her  feelings  by  anything  that  passed  at  this  table." 

His  tone  was  bantering,  but  good-natured,  and  Mr. 
Reycrof  t  took  no  offense  in  the  world. 

"  I  have  been  taught,"  said  that  gentleman,  "  that 
undue  familiarity  between  the  sexes  is  harmful  and 
unwise  ;  that  it  can  lead  to  no  good.  Hence  my  ob- 
jection." 

"All  a  mistake,"  interposed  Mr.  Clarence  Perkyns. 
"  I  was  taught  the  same  thing,  and  had  it  drilled  into 
me,  ad  nauseum.  Those  who  say  so  are  quite  wrong, 
I  assure  you.  We  are  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
animals  of  a  higher  order,  with  appetites  and  hungers 
which  we  seek  to  appease.  Anything  which  reason- 
ably tends  to  our  happiness  we  have  a  right  to  par- 
take of.  Eh,  Mendall  ?"  he  questioned  in  conclusion, 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  49 

turning1  to  the  banker,  who  had  been  a  silent  but  in- 
terested listener. 

"  You've  got  my  idea  of  it  exactly,"  said  Mendall. 
"  The  good  things  of  this  world  are  for  them  as  can 
get  'em.  That's  my  doctrine." 

"  Take  beautiful  woman  out  of  the  scale,"  put  in 
Walter  Campbell,  "  and  you  lower  the  gauge  of  life 
fifty  per  cent." 

"  A  hundred  !"  cried  Greyburn. 

"  Yes,  undoubtedly — for  you,"  assented  Walter. 
"  A  sorcerer  who  can  bring  whom  he  pleases  to  his 
feet.  A  glance  of  his  eye  and  they  are  captive.  / 
know." 

"  And  does  Mr.  Greyburn  justify  such  wanton  de- 
struction ?"  asked  Mr.  Reycroft,  smiling  upon  his  host. 

"It's  not  destruction,"  he  replied.  "Walter's  met- 
aphor is  too  highly  drawn.  In  fact,  he  overstates  my 
capabilities.  And  yet,"  he  added  musingly,  and  half 
to  himself,  "  I  never  tried  for  such  game  yet  and 
failed  to  win  it." 

"  He  speaks  truth,"  said  Jacob  Mendall.  "  I've 
known  him  a  dozen  years  and  he  speaks  truth.  It's  a 
gift.  I  never  had  it.  Lucky  for  me,  I  always 
thought,  that  I  got  one  after  he  was  done  with 
her." 

"  So  it  was,"  said  Greyburn.  "  June  is  just  the 
woman  for  you.  Keeps  you  in  place.  You  need 
a  woman  that's  half  tiger,  like  her.  You  are  reason- 
able, too.  When  she  shows  her  teeth  you  retire. 
Splendidly  mated,  Jacob,  you  and  June." 

"  And  are  women  really  so  easily  won  as  your  re- 
mark of  a  few  minutes  ago  would  seem  to  imply  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Reycroft.  "  Speak  guardedly  now,  and 
weigh  your  words  well." 

Greyburn  glanced  around  the  room  and  saw  that 
his  guests  were  all  attention. 

"  I  dislike   to   say    anything  that  may    seem   like 


50  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

boasting,"  he  said,  "  but  the  truth  is  that  the  greatest 
fault  I  find  with  women  is  that  they  yield  too  easily. 
It  takes  al  1  the  sport  out  of  the  chase.  You're  a  hunter, 
Mr.  Arthur,  and  you  will  understand  the  simile. 
When  you  go  after  game  what  is  it  but  the  excite- 
ment of  the  run  that  sends  the  blood  dancing  through 
your  veins  ?  If,  instead  of  the  long  chase  over  hill 
and  dale,  your  game  lagged  for  you  and  fell  into  your 
hands  within  the  first  furlong,  would  that  suit  your 
sportsman's  ideas?  I'll  venture  not.  I  am  tired  of 
shooting  at  domestic  poultry." 

"  That's  all  right  for  you,"  said  Walter,  "  but  Venus 
is  not  so  kind  to  the  rest  of  us.  It's  over  hill  and 
down  dale  enough  for  me,  I  know  that.  There's  one 
bird  over  on  Long  Island  that  I've  tried  to  wing  for 
six  months,  and  I'm  no  nearer,  as  I  can  see,  than 
when  I  started." 

"That's  because  you  don't  understand  the  busi- 
ness," laughed  Hector.  "  You  rush  in,  raise  a  hue 
and  cry,  and  frighten  her  into  flight  at  the  very  out- 
set. Women  are  like  other  fowl,  and  must  be  ap- 
proached with  caution.  You  lack  coolness  and  nerve. 
When  your  bird  comes  in  sight  you  go  all  to  pieces, 
and  lose  your  head  at  the  very  moment  when  what 
you  need  is  calm  deliberation.  A  young  hunter,  like 
you,  should  creep  very  near  before  he  takes  aim  ;  but 
away  you  go,  banging  at  the  air,  and  the  creature 
takes  natural  alarm.  The  only  way  for  you  to  hit  any- 
thing would  be  for  some  one  to  hold  it  while  you  shot, 
and  even  then  it  is  ten  to  one  that  you  would  kill  your 
friend  instead  of  the  object  at  which  you  aimed." 

Walter  joined  in  the  laugh  which  this  raised,  none 
the  less  because  it  was  at  his  own  expense. 

"  I  get  the  fun  of  the  chase,  any  way,  which  is 
what  you  were  lamenting  the  loss  of,  "  he  said. 

The  wine  was  circulating  pretty  freely  and  was 
having  its  usual  effect.  On  Greyburn  it  served  to 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  5 1 

loosen  his  tongue  and  make  him  speak  even  more 
openly  than  usual. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Mr.  Reycroft  to 
him,  "  that  you  find  the  women  of  to-day,  the  respect- 
able women,  as  easy  victims  as  your  words  seem  to 
imply;  that  it  is  as  easy  to  overcome  the  virtue  of 
the  average  woman  as  it  is  to  shoot  a  wild  fowl  ?" 

"  Right  here,  among  friends  at  this  table,"  replied 
Greyburn,  "  that  is  exactly  what  I  mean.  1  am  so 
confident  of  it  that  I  will  agree  to  put  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars in  Mr.  Mendall's  hands  against  a  similar  amount 
placed  on  a  contrary  proposition,  that  I  will  win  any 
given  woman  within  a  year  from  this  date  or  forfeit 
the  stakes.  I  have  made  the  offer  before,  and  I  make 
it  now  in  the  best  of  good  faith." 

"  Yes,"  nodded  Mendall,  "  he  has  made  the  offer  in 
my  presence  time  and  again,  and  I  never  dreamed  of 
taking  him  up.  I'd  like  to  make  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars as  well  as  another,  but  I'd  as  soon  invest  it  in  the 
mines  of  the  Moon,  as  in  such  a  wager  as  that." 

"  And  I  wouldn't  bet  a  week's  salary  against  those 
stakes,"  said  young  Campbell.  "  Of  course  he  would 
win.  Why,  it's  not  a  matter  of  common  persuasion, 
Mr.  Arthur.  He  uses  necromancy,  I  tell  you  ;  clear 
diabolism  !" 

"  I  dislike  to  differ  with  you  again,"  said  the  rev- 
erend guest,  "  but  I  am  compelled  to  do  so.  I  can- 
not, without  more  evidence,  admit  such  a  belief  re- 
garding the  sex  which  I  have  ever  credited  with  pos- 
sessing most  of  the  virtue  and  goodness  in  the  world. 
There  are  women  and  women.  Undoubtedly  some 
would  prove  easy  victims,  finding  in  the  attack  upon 
them  only  what  they  had  waited  and  hoped  for.  But 
your  proposition  would  imply—God  help  us  !— that 
there  was  not  a  woman  of  impregnable  virtue  in  the 
country.  That  is  preposterous.  I  could  not  sub- 
scribe to  it  for  a  moment." 


52  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  I  would  not  mean  exactly  that,"  corrected  Grey- 
burn,  pouring  out  another  glass  of  wine.  "  I  should 
wish  for  my  own  comfort  to  include  in  the  wager  only 
those  women  between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and  thirty. 
I  wouldn't  like  to  go  on  a  quest  for  children  or  old 
ladies,  so  there  would  be  a  number  left  to  whom  you 
could  pin  your  faith.  And  if  I  succeeded  in  winning 
the  wager,  it  would  after  all  only  prove  that  that  par- 
ticular one  was  pliable.  Put  up  your  money,  and 
let's  have  it  tested,"  he  added,  toying  with  his  glass 
and  holding  it  between  his  eye  and  the  light. 

"  Of  course,  I  cannot  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Reycroft. 
"  Even  if  there  were  no  other  reasons  against  it,  I 
should  not  like  to  be  a  party  to  such  an  attempt, 
which  seems  to  my  mind  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  crime.  To  me  it  is  a  serious  subject,  and  I  do  not 
feel  like  jesting  upon  it." 

"Nonsense  !"  said  Walter  Campbell,  who  had  drank 
very  freely  of  the  champagne.  "  You  wouldn't  dare 
risk  a  cent  of  the  money.  What's  the  use  of  pretend- 
ing it's  piety  that  stops  you  ?  Why,  Greyburn  could 
take  in  anything  in  petticoats  just  as  easily  as  I  could 
swallow  this  Heidseck." 

The  young  man's  words  were  sufficiently  insulting 
to  make  the  whole  company  wait  with  unusual  in- 
terest for  Mr.  Reycroft's  reply. 

"  I  supposed  every  man  had  some  woman,"  he  said, 
at  last,  and  with  an  expression  of  pain  in  his  fine  eyes, 
"  whose  name  he  held  in  honor.  You  cannot  have  a 
sister,  Mr.  Campbell,  or  you  would  not  say  what  you 
have." 

Walter  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  He  turned 
as  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  took  hold  of  his  chair  for  sup- 
port as  he  rose.  In  a  second  the  blood  came  rushing 
back  to  his  face  again,  and  he  hissed  out  : 

"  You  coward  !  Do  you  dare  mention  my  sister  in 
such  a  way  as  that  ?" 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  53 

"  I  mentioned  no  one,"  said  Mr.  Reycroft,  quickly. 
"  I  did  not  know  you  had  a  sister.  Your  expression 
made  me  suppose  you  had  none.  God  forbid  that  I 
should  bring  the  name  of  any  true  lady  into  such  a 
discussion  !" 

Walter  had  drank  just  enough  to  hear  but  not  to 
understand  the  reply. 

"  True  lady  !"  he  cried  again.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
say  my  sister  isn't  a  true  lady  ?  I'll  murder  the  man 
who  says  she  isn't  !  I'll " 

But  Greyburn  had  him  by  the  arm,  and  in  a  few 
moments  convinced  him  that  he  was  laboring  under 
a  delusion.  Quick  to  apologize  as  to  give  offense, 
Walter  instantly  offered  his  hand.  Mr.  Reycroft 
accepted  it,  and  the  dinner  proceeded  in  comparative 
silence.  After  a  little  while  Mr.  Pickett,  who  had 
hitherto  said  very  little,  began  to  grow  loquacious. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  abruptly,  "  I'm  a  plain,  blunt 
sort  of  a  man,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I  think 
of  this  whole  business.  I  think  it's  a  direct  branch  of 
the  Inferno." 

"  You  natter  us,"  said  Mr.  Bolton.  There  was 
something  in  the  frankness  of  Mr.  Pickett  which  dis- 
armed resentment. 

"  You  are  ruining  your  own  souls,  and  those  of  God 
knows  how  many  women,"  pursued  the  manufac- 
turer. "  You  are  wasting  the  precious  moments 
which  a  kind  Providence  has  given  you  to  prepare  for 
a  future  life.  Like  spendthrifts  do  you  use  the  for- 
tune Heaven  sends  you.  Unless  you  repent,  Satan 
will  have  you  all." 

"  The  devil,  you  say,"  put  in  a  young  man  at  the 
end  of  the  table,  not  inaptly,  as  the  rest  seemed  by 
their  laughter  to  think. 

"To    these    young  women,   your  victims  (cries  of 

Oh  !  Oh  !  and  derisive  laughter),  I  have  only  to  say, 

Leave  this  haunt  of  sin  and  secure  yourselves  honest 


54  THOU  SHALT  NOT. 

labor  ;  repent  while  there  is  yet  time,  or  your  end  is 
not  difficult  to  imagine." 

<l  One  minute,"  said  Greyburn,  soberly.  "  You  are 
a  manufacturer.  You  employ  how  many  women — a 
hundred  at  least.  What  wages  do  they  earn  in  your 
mill  ?" 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?"  asked  Mr.  Pickett, 
a  little  disconcerted  at  the  change  of  subject. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Greyburn,  "  I  know,  or  ap- 
proximately. They  earn  from  three  dollars  and  a  half 
to  six  dollars  a  week.  Very  few  indeed,  the  latter 
sum.  Probably  five  dollars  would  be  an  average. 
Now,  how  many  hours  a  day  do  they  work  ?" 

"  All  this  has  no  reference  to  the  matter,"  said  the 
manufacturer. 

"  How  many  hours  a  day,  that's  the  question,"  per- 
sisted Greyburn,  not  minding  the  interruption  further 
than  to  pause  while  it  was  being  made.  "  I  know — 
about.  I  have  ridden  by  your  mills  in  the  morning 
at  a  quarter  past  six  and  seen  women  hastening  to 
the  gat§s.  I  have  passed  at  the  same  hour  at  night 
and  seen  it  lit  from  top  to  bottom  and  heard  the  looms 
running.  Twelve  hours  a  day  of  such  steady,  con- 
fining work,  for  less  than  one  dollar  !  That's  the 
honest  labor  that  is  open  to  these  girls  if  they  choose 
it." 

"  I  pay  as  much  as  anybody,"  said  the  manufacturer, 
a  little  warmly. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Greyburn.  "  That's  what  I 
meant  to  say." 

"  And  as  much  as  I  can  afford." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Greyburn,  "  if  I  doubt  that. 
You  have  been  very  severe  on  us,  and  we  take  it  all 
in  good  part.  Now  let  me  criticise  you  a  little. 
Your  father  left  you  less  than  five  thousand  dollars 
twenty  years  ago.  You  are  now  worth  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  How  did  you  get  it  ?  You  secured 


THOU  SHALT  NOT.  55 

a  mill  privilege,  so-called,  a  piece  of  water  running 
through  a  ravine  which  the  Almighty  hollowed  out 
for  it  in  the  creation.  With  the  aid  of  many  men, 
women,  yes,  and  even  children,  you  have  built  a  mill, 
equipped  it  with  machinery,  and  manufactured  cloth 
until  you  are  a  rich  man.  Alone,  you  would  have 
been  worth  little  more  than  you  were  at  first,  but 
with  all  these  people  to  aid  you — that  is,  they  and 
you  together — you  have  amassed  a  fortune,  and  you 
have  it  all.  To  you,  that  mill  has  brought  a  splendid 
mansion,  costly  furniture,  horses,  carriages,  bank 
stock,  other  real  estate,  in  short,  all  that  you  could 
desire  of  the  good  things  of  this  life.  To  them,  the 
workers  who  have  made  your  gains  possible,  it  has 
brought  long  hours  of  unremitting  toil,  poor  homes, 
scantily  furnished,  a  crust  of  bread,  and  a  grave  in  the 
cemetery  over  the  hill.  No  more  !  I  challenge  you 
to  show  me  that  it  has  brought  them  more  than  this." 

"  At  least,"  said  the  manufacturer,  pointedly,  "  they 
have  not  imperilled  their  souls  there." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Grey  burn.  "  I 
hardly  see  how  they  can  have  much  soul  to  lose  or 
save  in  that  eternal  treadmill  of  labor.  Sunday  is 
their  only  time  for  rest,  and  why  you  Puritans  have 
left  them  that  passes  my  comprehension,  unless  it  be 
that  they  would  otherwise  wear  out  too  soon,  the  same 
as  your  boilers,  under  perpetual  strain.  The  offenses 
which  are  joined  to  poverty  prevail  in  your  village. 
Drunkenness  is  not  uncommon.  Theft  is  of  weekly 
occurrence.  And  last  year,  when  I  was  there,  a 
woman  lay  in  jail  for  strangling  her  infant,  because, 
as  she  expressed  it,  she  could  not  give  up  her  loom 
to  care  for  it  without  bringing  her  other  five  to  starva- 
tion. Her  husband  was  killed  a  few  months  pre- 
viously by  the  falling  of  a  piece  of  machinery,  in 
your  mill." 


56  THOU  SHALT  NOT. 

"  You  surely  don't  blame  me  for  that,"  said  Mr. 
Pickett,  uneasily. 

"  I  was  blaming  nobody,"  answered  Greyburn.  "  I 
was  only  thinking.  Here  are  these  girls  and  there 
are  your  spinners.  Have  you  one  in  all  your  mill 
who  would  not  gladly  exchange  her  life  for  the  one 
these  lead  ?  I  doubt  it ;  I  doubt  it.  Understand  me, 
Mr.  Pickett  !  I  am  not  rinding  any  special  fault  with 
you,  personally.  But  I  do  think  the  system  under 
which  one  human  being  fattens  out  of  all  needed  pro- 
portion, while  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  stay  in  per- 
petual poverty,  is  a  disgrace  to  the  age  and  a  curse  to 
society,  compared  with  which  the  sentimental  injuries 
of  unchaste  living  are  as  a  grain  of  sand  to  the  whole 
globe." 

The  hour  for  separation  came  with  this  discussion 
unfinished,  and  all  of  the  guests  but  Mr.  Reycroft  de- 
parted ;  the  manufacturer  declaring,  however,  that 
he  would  meet  Greyburn  again  and  convince  him 
that  the  mill-owners  of  New  England  were  a  great 
source  of  benefit  to  the  communities  in  which  they 
lived,  and  only  received  their  just  share  of  the  profits 
arising  from  their  business. 

"  May  I  ask  you  just  one  question  ?'  said  Mr.  Rey- 
croft, as  he  seated  himself  in  the  library  for  a  mo- 
ment's conversation  with  his  host  before  retiring. 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Greyburn. 

"  Why  do  you  not  caution  young  Campbell  about 
drinking  so  heavily  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  he  is  doing 
himself  an  injury." 

"  I  have  done  it  at  other  places  and  times,  but  I 
cannot  mention  it  at  my  own  table.  Rules  of  hos- 
pitality, you  know.  When  I  get  the  right  opportu- 
nity I  will  offer  a  suggestion  again." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  minister.  "And — ah — his 
sister.  Have  you  ever  seen  her  ?" 


THOU  SHALT  NOT.  57 

"  Yes.  He  took  me  there  a  few  weeks  ago.  A 
charming  girl  of  eighteen.  A  little  country  school- 
teacher. Sweet  as  a  strawberry." 

"  She  comes  within  your  limit — sixteen  to  thirty," 
said  the  visitor,  sadly. 

"  Yes,  and  the  very  last  one,  you  would  say,  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  sinful  man." 

"  You — you  are  not  trying  ?"  said  Mr.  Reycroft  in  a 
constrained  voice. 

"  There  ?  Oh,  no  !  not  at  all.  You  half  believe  in 
my  power,  I  see." 

The  clergyman  smiled  a  little. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Greyburn,  pleasantly,  as  Wil- 
liams answered  his  bell  and  prepared  to  escort  the 
guest  to  his  room.  "  Sleep  soundly,  as  I  and  all  other 
men  with  clear  consciences  do.  To-morrow  we  will 
commence  the  task  of  investigating  the  REAL  sins  of 
this  modern  Babylon." 


CHAPTER  V. 

LET  us  go  out  again  into  the  air  ;  into  that  country 
which  God  made,  and  in  which  man  was  content  to 
find  his  happiness  long  before  he  built  himself  the 
town.  Let  us  go  where  the  little  country  school-house 
stands  on  the  edge  of  the  maples.  Let  us  see  the 
little  country  school  teacher — "  sweet  as  a  strawberry  " 
— teaching  the  forty  little  children,  bearing  with  their 
faults,  soothing  their  griefs,  interested  in  their  joys 
and  sorrows,  loved  by  each,  and  loving  each  in  return. 

Every  autumn  afternoon,  at  four  o'clock,  the  little 
school-house  closed  its  doors,  and  the  little  teacher 
walked  home,  past  the  fields  and  meadows,  past  the 
loaded  apple  trees,  past  the  little  singing  brook,  ancj 


58  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

past  John  Dinsmore's  forge.  Each  school  day  John 
hammered  away  at  his  anvil  or  placed  the  iron  cres- 
cent on  the  hoof  where  it  was  to  go,  but  stopped  very 
often  to  measure  with  his  eye  the  shadow  of  the  forge 
door.  For  the  shadow  was  his  timepiece.  It  told  him 
when  it  was  the  hour  for  Her  to  come,  and  this  daily 
passing  of  Clara  Campbell  was  more  to  the  black- 
smith than  all  the  rest  that  came  and  went.  Satur- 
day, when  there  was  no  school,  was  a  long  and  dull 
day  for  him.  A  close  observer  might  have  known 
when  it  came,  only  by  the  absence  of  the  smile  on 
John  Dinsmore's  face. 

He  had  known  her  ever  since  she  was  a  baby,  and 
her  brother  Walter  a  toddling  thing  in  petticoats.  At 
that  time  Rev.  Duncan  Campbell  and  his  pretty  young 
wife  were  placed  in  charge  of  the  parish  of  Spring- 
dale.  Mr.  Campbell,  Sr.,  was  a  man  of  no  great 
oratorical  pretensions,  but  his  piety  and  learning  were 
undoubted.  His  wife  was  a  lovable  little  woman, 
who  did  the  whole  duty  of  a  country  minister's  con- 
sort, visiting  the  sick,  comforting  the  distressed, 
breathing  hope  in  the  ear  of  the  dying.  When  Clara 
was  twelve  years  of  age  her  father  died  suddenly  of 
heart  disease.  The  blow  prostrated  her  mother,  who 
had  never  been  too  strong,  and  within  a  year  she  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  village  cemetery. 

Clara  was  thirteen  and  Walter  fifteen,  but  the  girl 
was  the  elder  in  all  but  years.  The  parish,  with  New 
England  promptness,  ceased  to  pay  its  minister's  sal- 
ary as  soon  as  he  was  unable  to  perform  his  duties. 
The  young  girl  and  her  brother  were  placed,  theoret- 
ically, under  the  care  of  a  guardian,  but  the  gentle- 
man selected  did  no  more  than  follow  Clara's  direc- 
tions. Every  bill  due  was  collected,  and  by  the  aid 
of  a  small  mortgage  on  the  homestead,  was  paid  in 
full.  Young  as  she  was,  Clara  sought  and  obtained 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  59 

the  primary  school  of  the  village,  and  set  to  work  like 
a  brave  little  woman  to  face  the  world.  For  two 
years  she  supported  both  herself  and  Walter,  insist- 
ing that  he  should  remain  at  school  in  order  to  fit 
himself  for  a  position  higher  than  he  could  otherwise 
expect.  To  do  the  boy  justice,  he  protested  against 
this  arrangement,  and  yielded  with  reluctance  to  her 
superior  force  of  will.  He  found  light  work  for 
mornings  and  evenings  and  for  vacations,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  adding  a  few  dollars  to  the  salary  she  re- 
ceived. But  at  last  came  the  inevitable  day,  the  day 
she  had  dreaded  and  tried  to  postpone,  when  he  ex- 
pressed the  determination  to  go  and  seek  his  fortune. 
There  was  little  to  do  in  Springdale,  that  she  well 
knew,  and  she  had  entertained  the  hope  that  he 
would  settle  in  some  of  the  larger  towns  within  a  few 
miles.  When  he  declared  that  nothing  would  answer 
for  him  but  New  York  city,  she  remonstrated  at  first 
and  then  pleaded  with  him.  She  begged  him  not  to 
leave  her  so  lonely  ;  she  descanted  upon  the  dangers, 
she  pictured  the  evils  of  life  in  the  metropolis  ;  she 
urged  his  extreme  youth  and  the  slight  probability  of 
his  getting  a  foothold  in  a  city  where  he  had  neither 
relations  nor  friends,  all  to  no  purpose.  He  had  de- 
cided to  go,  and  nothing  could  move  him. 

When  she  saw  that  he  would  go,  she  called  up  all 
her  fortitude  and  tried  to  add  to,  rather  than  detract 
from,  his  stock  of  courage.  She  repressed  the  tears 
that  rose  to  her  eyes,  and  spoke  hopefully,  almost 
confidently,  of  his  future.  The  good-hearted  but 
stubborn  boy  had  not  that  keen  mental  discernment 
which  would  have  told  him  that  each  word  of  delight 
at  his  coming  departure  pierced  his  sister's  heart  like 
a  knife.  He  kissed  her  a  careless  good-bye  and  de- 
parted, full  of  youth,  full  of  animation,  full  of  hope. 
Then  she  turned  for  consolation  to  the  God  of  her 


60  TIIOU    SHALT    NOT. 

parents,  and  left  her  brother  in  His  care,  with  a 
somewhat  lighter  heart. 

Two  years  had  passed,  during  which  she  had  not 
seen  him.  He  had  written  often,  and  his  stories  of 
success,  far  beyond  their  dreams,  had  made  her  more 
content  to  miss  his  treasured  face.  Sometimes  the 
feeling1  came  very  strongly  that  she  ought  to  know 
from  some  other  source  just  what  Walter  was  doing. 
Not  that  she  doubted  him,  but  she  wished  to  make 
assurance  doubly  sure.  No  way  to  do  this  seemed  to 
present  itself,  however,  as  she  knew  not  a  soul  either 
in  or  near  the  city  ;  and  she  had  to  wait  until  the  two 
years  had  passed,  when  she  had  his  positive  promise 
that  he  would  make  her  a  visit. 

Home  at  last  !  The  same  dear  brother.  The  same 
loved  one— only  taller  and  handsomer.  A  city  young 
man,  with  a  salary  of  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  ! 
He  had  stayed  a  week,  which  went  like  a  wonderful 
and  impossible  dream.  And  now  he  had  gone  again. 
She  had  seen  him  mount  the  stage  box  and  wave  his 
adieux  as  he  rode  away,  the  admiration  and  pride  of 
the  village.  She  had  suppressed  her  sisterly  tears — 
till  he  was  out  of  sight.  A  stout-hearted  little  wom- 
an was  Clara  Campbell. 

After  Walter  was  gone,  Clara  liked  more  than  ever 
to  stop  at  the  old  forge  and  have  a  chat  with  John 
Dinsmore.  John  was  interested  in  Walter,  as  well  as 
she.  John  had  carried  him  on  his  shoulders  many 
and  many  a  time. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Walter  this  morning,  John," 
she  said,  one  afternoon,  as  she  entered  the  forge  and 
took  the  carefully  dusted  chair  which  the  blacksmith 
handed  her. 

"Ah  !"  said  John.  It  always  took  him  a  minute  or 
two  to  get  quite  easy  before  this  little  woman,  this 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  6 1 

child  whom  he  had  rocked  in  her  cradle  sixteen  years 
before. 

"  Yes,  John,"  pursued  Clara.  "  And  he  asked  par- 
ticularly to  be  remembered  to  you." 

"  I'm  thankful  to  him,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  black- 
smith. "  It's  very  kind  of  him." 

Clara  sat  quite  still  for  a  minute  after  that,  and  he 
did  not  interrupt  her. 

"  Do  you  know,  John,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  I  wish 
I  could  go  down  to  New  York  and  see  where  Walter 
lives  and  how  he  spends  his  time?  It  almost  fright- 
ens me  to  think  of  him  there,  in  that  great  city,  with 
so  much  money  in  his  hands.  It's  a  large  salary  he  is 
getting.  There  isn't  a  man  in  this  whole  village,  ex- 
cepting Squire  Singleton,  who  has  two  thousand  a 
year.  And  you  know,  John,  he  acknowledged  that 
he  had  spent  so  far  nearly  the  whole  of  it.  I  can't 
think  it  is  a  good  thing  for  a  young  man  like  him  to 
have  so  much  money.  It  opens  every  form  of  tempt- 
ation, unless  one  is  strongly  fortified  to  resist,  and 
Walter  was  always  easily  led.  Not  that  I  would  say 
any  harm  of  him,  poor  boy  ;  but  he  is  so  innocent,  he 
seems  to  me  in  special  danger." 

The  blacksmith  paused  a  moment  and  then  said: 
"  O'  course,   ye  couldn't  go,    Miss  Clara.     It  would 
be  quite  out  o'  the   question.     Some   one  else    might 
go  down  thar    an'  look  about  quietly,  but  not  you. 
Ye  hadn't  ought  to  think  of  it." 

"  There's  one  thing  I  might  do,"  said  Clara,  thought- 
fully.    "  I  might  write  to  Mr.  Greyburn." 
The  blacksmith  started  violently. 
"  He  has  taken  a  great  deal  of   interest  in  Walter," 
she  continued,  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts 
to  notice  him,  "  and    would  do  anything   he   could,  I 
know.     He  said  as  much  when  he  was   here.     Very 
delicately,  to   be   sure,  but  I  understood    him.      He 
thinks  Walter  needs  looking  after  as  much  as  we  do," 


62  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?"  asked  the  blacksmith,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Not  exactly.  I  can't  remember  just  how  he  ex- 
pressed the  idea.  It  was  in  the  evening-,  when  Walter 
had  gone  to  the  office  for  the  mail.  I  know  he  spoke 
very  kindly.  He  is  such  a  perfect  gentleman,  too." 

Diusmore  stood  very  still,  weighing  every  word. 
When  she  came  to  the  end  he  glanced  involuntarily 
at  his  own  hard  hands  and  at  his  workman's  clothes. 

"  Money  makes  gentlemen,"  he  said.  Then,  seeing 
that  she  looked  up  inquiringly,  he  added,  "  Fine 
clothes,  diamonds,  gold  watches." 

"  Oh,  no,  John,  it  takes  much  more  than  those  to 
make  a  real  gentleman,"  said  Clara.  "  It  takes  educa- 
tion, and  politeness  ;  yes,  and  goodness,  too.  A  man 
must  have  goodness  with  all  the  rest  or  he  is  not  a 
gentleman.  And  I  think  he  had  better  have  the 
goodness  and  miss  all  the  rest  than  to  have  ever  so 
much  of  the  others  and  fail  of  that." 

"  It  ain't  the  way  o'  the  world,  though,"  said  Dins- 
more.  "  It  sounds  very  pretty  in  Sunday  School 
books  to  read  of  honest  hearts  beatin'  under  rough 
jackets,  but  it's  the  fine  feathers  that  make  the 
fine  birds.  Now,  look  at  me.  I  never  wronged  a 
man  out  of  a  penny.  I've  done  my  work  in  life  as  I 
found  it  to  do  without  complaint.  But  do  you  think 
any  one  would  ever  point  to  me  when  I  went  by  an' 
say,  '  Thar  goes  a  gentleman  ?'  No.  They'd  be 
laughed  at." 

"  But  you  are  a  gentleman,"  said  Clara.  "  Honest, 
.upright  ;  why,  everybody  around  Springdale  respects 
John  Dinsmore.  You  know  they  do." 

"  Respects  me  ?  yes,"  said  Dinsmore.  "  But  when 
he  was  here  they  looked  up  at  him  as  if  he  was  a  king. 
Why  ?  What  had  he  done  ?  They'd  heard  he  was 
rich,  that's  all" 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  63 

•'  And  that  he  had  been  very  kind  to  my  brother 
Walter,"  said  Clara. 

"Much  that  had  to  do  with  it !"  cried  Dinsmore, 
desperately.  "  What  had  he  done  for  him,  anyway  ? 
Got  him  a  place,  did  he  ?  Well,  what  did  that  cost 
him  ?  Lent  him  five  hundred  dollars  ?  The  worst 
thing  he  could  'a'  done.  What  was  that  to  a  man  o' 
his  money?  But  o'  course,  I  hadn't  ought  to  say  a 
word.  He's  such  a  '  perfect  gentleman.'  " 

The  girl  stared  at  him  in  the  utmost  astonishment. 

"  Why,  John,"  said  she,  "  I  never  in  my  life  heard 
you  speak  so  much  ill  of  any  one.  You  have  no  right 
to  misjudge  Mr.  Greyburn.  Perhaps  it  was  not  wise 
that  he  should  lend  Walter  so  much  money,  but  we 
must  look  at  his  motive.  It  probably  doesn't  seem 
as  great  a  sum  to  him  as  it  does  to  us,  and  he  lent  it 
to  my  brother  to  enable  him  to  dress  as  well  as  the 
other  clerks  in  the  office,  and  to  get  rooms  in  a  nice 
locality.  The  motive  was  praiseworthy.  John,  you 
must  at  least  admit  that" 

"  How  can  you  or  I  tell  what  his  motive  was  ?"  said 
the  blacksmith,  doggedly. 

"  What  could  it  have  been  except  an  honorable 
one  ?"  cried  Clara,  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Diusmore,  shortly. 

"  Then  why  do  you  speak  as  you  did  ?  You  are 
not  used  to  being  so  unkind  in  )7our  estimates  of 
people." 

"  I  don't  know  what  his  motive  was,"  repeated 
Dinsmore,  slowly,  but  I'll  wager  my  head  it  wasn't  a 
good  one.  I'll  wager  my  head  that  fine  gentleman 
hasn't  taken  all  this  pains  with  your  brother  fer 
nothin'.  It's  agin  the  natur'  o'  things.  Time'll  tell 
whether  I'm  right  or  wrong.  Fer  your  sake,  Miss 
Clara,"  he  added,  in  a  softer  tone,  "  I  hope  I  may  be 
mistaken,  but  I  don't  believe  it." 


64  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"  You're  a  strange  man,  John,"  said  Clara.  "  When 
you  get  your  mind  once  set  there's  no  changing  it.  I 
don't  think  I  ought  to  stay  and  hear  you  condemn 
Mr.  Greyburn,  unless  you  can  give  some  reason  ex- 
cept your  intuitions  and  prejudices.  This  is  not  the 
first  time  you  have  taken  occasion  to  speak  slightingly 
of  him  to  me.  He  is  my  brother's  friend,  and  so  far 
as  I  have  seen,  a  gentleman.  Yes,  I  repeat  it,  a  gen- 
tleman. If  you  intend  to  abuse  him  every  time  I 
stop  at  the  forge  a  moment  on  my  way  from  school,  I 
shall  have  to  cease  calling,  that's  all." 

She  rose  as  if  to  go.  The  blacksmith  made  a  ges- 
ture of  appeal. 

"Oh!  Miss  Clara  !"  he  cried,  "ye  don't  mean 
that !" 

_^  I  do  mean  it,"  she  said.  "  Something  seems  to 
have  come  over  you  lately  to  make  you  act  very  disa- 
greeably." 

'  Do  you  think,"  said  the  blacksmith,  averting  his 
face  from  her,  "  that  I  don't  love  your  brother  Wal- 
ter ?" 

"  I  know  you  do,"  said  Clara,  quickly. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  he  said,  dashing  a  tear  from  his 
grimy  face,  and  speaking  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  that 
I  haven't  a  friend  in  the  world  to  claim  my  love,  an' 
that  it's  all  yours — an'  Walter's  ?  Don't  let  me 
frighten  ye,  Miss  Clara.  I'm  almost  old  enough  to  be 
yer  father.  Ever  sence  ye  could  creep — you  two — 
I've  loved  ye  both.  An'  now,  fer  an  honest  word,  ye'll 
cast  me  aside." 

"  No,  John,  never !"  cried  the  warm-hearted  girl, 
with  ready  sympathy.  "  You  have  always  been  our 
friend,  and  you  shall  be.  I  will  stop  here  every  even- 
ing, if  you  desire.  I  spoke  hastily.  Forgive  me." 

The  blacksmith  brushed  the  tears  from  his  blue 
eyes,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  weakness. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  65 

"  Forgive  ye  !"  he  echoed.  "  Forgive  me,  rather. 
I  was  thoughtless.  I  allus  am.  I  wasn't  born  a  gen- 
tleman, ye  see,  an'  don't  know  how  to  express  myself. 
I  won't  speak  o'  him  again.  Ye'll  stop  at  the  forge 
evenin's,  won't  ye  ?  Because,"  he  said,  pausing  for  a 
reason — "  because  I  shall  want  to  hear  from  Walter." 

"  I'll  come,"  said  Clara,  "  every  evening.  And  I  am 
sorry  for  what  I  said." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  in  token  of  reconciliation. 
Had  he  been  a  "  gentleman  "  he  might  have  bent  to 
kiss  it,  but  he  would  as  soon  have  thrust  it  into  his 
forge's  fire.  To  John  Dinsmore,  Clara  was  what  a 
saint  is  to  a  devout  Catholic,  or  as  the  mosques  of 
Mecca  to  a  Moslem  pilgrim.  Only  she  seemed  farther 
from  his  possession  than  any  heaven  or  any  shrine. 
To  have  her  shadow  fall  across  his  shop  floor  was  all 
he  could  hope  for,  and  on  her  frequent  visits  he  ex- 
isted. Had  she  stayed  away  entirely,  a  darkness  like 
that  of  the  Egyptian  plague  would  have  fallen  upon 
his  heart. 

A  few  days  later,  without  a  word  to  any  one  of  her 
intention,  Clara  placed  this  letter  in  the  post-office  : 

SPRINGDALE,  CONN.,  Oct.  — ,  188-. 
HECTOR  GREYBURN,  ESQ.: 

Sir, — When  you  were  in  Springdale  you  spoke  to 
me  very  kindly  of  my  brother,  and  as  I  understood, 
volunteered,  should  I  so  desire,  to  ascertain  in  what 
company  he  spends  his  leisure  hours,  and  communi- 
cate the  information  to  me.  You  will  understand, 
Sir,  that  Walter  and  I  were  left  orphans  five  years 
ago,  and  that,  while  I  am  the  youngest  in  years,  he  has 
always  seemed  in  a  sense  under  my  charge.  I  take 
the  liberty- of  begging  you  to  interest  yourself  to  the 
extent  of  learning  whether  he  is  doing  as  a  young 
man  ought  among  the  temptations  of  a  city.  Please 


66  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

do  not  let  him  know,  in  any  way,  that  I  have  made 
this  request,  as  he  is  high-spirited  and  might  resent 
what  he  would  call  an  interference. 

By  attending  to  this  you  will  confer  a  lasting  favor 
on 

Your  Obedient  Servant, 

CLARA  CAMPBELL. 

When  Greyburn  read  this  letter  he  burst  into  a 
hearty  laugh.  The  ludicrous  side  of  the  notion  that 
he  should  investigate  the  character  of  Walter's  friends 
and  surroundings  struck  him  with  full  force.  Then 
he  read  the  letter  through  again,  and  somehow  it  did 
not  seem  quite  so  mirth-provoking.  He  recalled  the 
little  sweet-faced  sister,  living  all  alone  and  unpro- 
tected in  the  old  country  parsonage,  and  seemed  to 
see  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  as  he  talked  in  her  little 
parlor  of  Walter's  successes.  The  wish  that  he  could 
see  her  again  came  strong  upon  him.  He  answered 
her  letter  in  a  kind  tone,  bidding  her  rest  assured 
that  he  would  continue  to  do  all  in  his  power  for  her 
brother.  He  spoke  of  the  pleasure  his  brief  visit  to 
Springdale  had  given  him,  and  declared  his  intention 
of  coming  again  to  breathe  the  pure  are  of  its  hills 
and  valleys. 

"  I  shall  stroll  up  that  way  another  season,"  ^he 
mused,  "  and  I  must  make  a  few  days  stay  in  that 
modern  Arcadia.  No,"  he  added,  as  a  new  thought 
crossed  his  mind,  "  not  with  any  special  design  upon 
the  little  schoolmistress.  That  would  raise  the  deuce 
with  Walter,  and  I  couldn't  afford  it.  And  yet  there's 
a  charm  in  the  girl  that  I  can't  rid  myself  of.  Pshaw  ! 
This  is  treason  to  Gabrielle.  What  is  it  that  Byron 
says  : 

"'  And  Juan,  had  he  quite  forgotten  Julia, 
And  should  he  have  forgotten  her  so  soon  !' " 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  67 


CHAPTER   VI. 

FAITHFUL  to  his  promise,Greyburn  escorted  the  Rev. 
Arthur  Reycroft  for  the  thirty  days  next  succeeding 
his  advent  at  the  Greyburn  Club,  through  all  the 
principal  haunts  of  sin  which  the  metropolis  affords. 
They  visited  the  slums  by  night  and  day,  often  under 
the  guard  of  a  police  officer.  They  visited  the  crim- 
inal courts,  the  jails,  the  places  of  refuge  and  deten- 
tion. They  climbed  the  stairs  of  filthy  tenement 
houses,  they  burrowed  into  the  cellars  where  human 
vermin  breed  and  die.  They  went  to  the  gambling 
dens  where  the  stakes  are  generally  hundreds  of  dol- 
lars as  well  as  those  where  a  nickel  or  a  dime  meets 
the  same  grand  passion  for  play.  They  entered  the 
variety  theatres  of  the  lower  sort,  in  which  a  small 
bribe  admits  behind  the  scenes,  where  the  not  over- 
particular ladies  of  the  ballet  disport  themselves  in 
abbreviated  skirts.  They  went  to  some  of  those 
places  which  the  French  denominate  maiscns  de  joic, 
and  which  they  found  in  squalor  at  Five  Points  and  in 
splendor  on  Murray  Hill.  They  went,  in  short,  into 
the  hidden  places  of  New  York,  places  which  the  or- 
dinary traveler  neither  sees  nor  suspects,  but  which 
are  to  the  body  politic  what  the  burning  lava  deep  in 
Vesuvius'  crater  is  to  the  people  on  the  plain  below— 
a  never  ceasing  menace.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  fol- 
low them.  Reycroft  was  sick  at  heart  long  before  he 
had  finished  his  self-imposed  task,  and  when  the 
month  had  expired  he  doclared  that  he  would  under 
no  consideration  go  any  farther. 

"  When  Dante  walked  the  streets  of  Italy,"  he  said 
one  night,  as  they  were  taking  a  lunch  in  Greyburn's 
library,  after  a  more  than  ordinarily  unpleasant  tour, 


68  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

"  the  people  pointed  at  him  and  said,  '  There  goes  a 
man  who  has  been  in  hell."  I  feel  as  if  every  person 
I  meet  might  with  equal  justice  call  the  same  thing 
after  me.  I  wonder  how  the  Christian  men  and  women 
of  this  city  can  let  these  things  go  on,  year  after  year, 
without  more  effort  to  stop  them." 

"  Why,  they  don't  wish  to  stop  them,"  said  Grey- 
burn.  "  If  you  will  give  me  another  month  I  will 
prove  it  to  you.  Who  do  you  suppose  owns  the  real 
estate  where  these  dens,  as  you  call  them,  are  located  ? 
I  wish  I  had  time  to  show  you  the  assessors'  books. 
I  wish  I  could  take  you  where  you  could  follow  the 
profits  made  in  these  places  and  see  into  whose 
pockets  they  go.  You  would  find  that  the  dollars  left 
in  the  gin  cellar,  the  gambling  shop  and  the  house  of 
ill-fame,  go  very  often  to  purchase  the  horses  and 
carriages,  the  velvets,  laces  and  diamonds  which  stop 
Sunday  mornings  before  the  doors  of  our  big 
churches.  It  wouM  seriously  lower  the  income  of 
very  many  of  your  Christian  men  and  women  if  the 
law  were  strong  enough  to  enforce  itself  in  the  slums 
of  this  city." 

"  It  is  a  terrible  thought,"  said  Reycroft.  "  But, 
Mr.  Greyburn,  excuse  me  for  a  personal  question  : 
How  does  all  this  array  of  sin  affect  you  so  little  ? 
You  know  what  I  mean.  You  are  not  partial  to 
drunkenness,  gambling-,  and  all  the  horrors  which  we 
have  witnessed.  They  can  have  no  charms  for  you. 
In  whatever  light  you  may  view  the  sins  which  have 
more  alluring  exteriors,  these  lower  things  must  repel 
you.  And  yet  you  pass  through  it  all  as  if  the  smell 
of  the  fire  did  not  touch  your  garments." 

Greyburn  smiled  at  the  serious  face  of  his  guest, 
and  replied  : 

"  A  good  deal  of  the  reason  is  probably  in  the  fact 
that  I  have  seen  nothing  new  in  this  month,  which 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  69 

has  opened  so  much  of  novelty  to  you.  I  have  experi- 
enced no  astonishment,  which  is  one  of  the  main  ele- 
ments of  horror.  I  knew  it  was  all  there,  as  I  had 
seen  it  a  thousand  times.  As  )TOU  say,  I  don't  like  it  ; 
at  least,  most  of  it.  I  must  have  my  sin  gilded  and 
well  upholstered  to  make  it  palatable.  The  poison 
sold  in  the  low  dram  shop  does  not  charm  me,  while  I 
like  just  the  same  my  Maderia  or  my  pale  ale.  The 
sight  of  excited  men  throwing  their  last  dollar  on  a 
roulette  table  is  unpleasant,  and  yet  with  a  party  of 
friends  at  piquet  or  euchre  I'll  none  the  less  spice  the 
game  with  a  ten  or  twenty  dollar  stake.  The  drunken 
and  bedraggled  woman  of  the  street  might  call  after 
me  in  vain,  but  I  would  not  turn  away,  for  all  that, 
from  pink  and  white  youth  and  beauty  in  the  shape 
of  Gabrielle  Delaporte." 

"  It's  none  the  less  sin,  though,"  said  Reycroft, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  I  don't  believe  you,"  replied  Greyburn,  gaily. 
"  They  say  that  conscience  is  to  be  our  guide  in  such 
matters,  and  I  never  yet  felt  even  the  least  bit  of  a 
twinge  over  anything  of  that  sort.  I  bring  every- 
thing up  to  that  test,  and  the  result  is  quite  agreeable. 
Shall  I  do  murder  ?  No  !  Conscience  tells  me  that 
without  question.  Shall  I  knock  down  my  neighbor 
or  burn  his  house  over  his  head  ?  Certainly  not !  I 
shouldn't  enjoy  it.  Conscience  would  interfere  with 
my  pastime.  Shall  I  make  myself  and  the  people 
around  me  happy  ?  Conscience  immediately  smiles 
her  approval." 

'•  I  am  afraid  your  conscience  is  not  a  true  guide," 
said  the  minister,  "  if  you  find  happiness  in  violating 
the  express  commands  of  Heaven." 

"It's  the  best  I've  got,  any  way,"  laughed  Greyburn, 
"  and  if  it  doesn't  keep  true  time  I  can't  be  held  to 
blame.  Do  you  remember  Meudall's  expression, '  The 


70  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

good  things  of  this  world  are  for  those  who  can  get 
them  '?  I've  thought  it  over  a  good  deal  and  I  be- 
lieve he  is  right.  Fourteen  years  ago  I  found  myself 
in  this  city  without  a  sou.  A  little  later  I  discovered 
an  easy  road  to  luxury,  and  I've  pursued  it  ever 
since.  Perhaps  if  I  had  had  too  fine  a  conscience  I 
might  have  denied  myself  my  opportunities  and 
starved  on  a  clerk's  wages  till  now.  So,  on  the  whole, 
I  really  can't  regret  that  my  inward  monitor  is  a  trifle 
elastic.  You've  heard  the  question  discussed,  no 
doubt,  regarding  my  source  of  income  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Reycroft.  "  I  have  met  no  one  alone, 
you  know,  since  I  have  been  here,  and  the  subject 
never  occurred  to  me." 

"  Have  you  no  curiosity  ?" 

"  I  have  no  objections  to  hearing  anything  you 
would  like  to  tell  me." 

"  I  shall  tell  you  very  little,"  said  Greyburn,  "  be- 
cause the  value  of  my  philosopher's  stone  depends 
largely  on  its  remaining  hidden  from  human  eyes. 
It  has  amused  me  to  hear  the  guesses  which  have 
been  made  and  the  deep  investigations  which  have 
been  set  on  foot  to  find  how  an  unknown  young 
fellow  stepped  so  easily  from  penury  to  a  competence, 
and  no  one  is  ever  a  bit  the  wiser  yet." 

"  So  long  as  it  was  done  in  an  honest  way,  no  one 
can  find  fault,"  said  Reycroft. 

"  Ah  !  but  the  question  comes,  «  What  is  honesty  ?'  " 
said  Greyburn,  "and  a  solution  of  that  problem  might 
take  longer  than  you  would  think.  Absolute  honesty 
is,  to  my  mind,  almost  an  unknown  quantity  in  this 
little  world  of  ours.  Take  any  sphere  of  life  you 
choose,  and  you  will  find  a  vein  of  fraud  running 
through  it.  It's  all  I  can  do  to  get  pure  articles  even 
when  I  am  willing  to  pay  the  highest  price.  Take  the 
professions,  too.  Supposing  I  go  to  a  lawyer  and  put 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  7 1 

a  case  in  his  hands.  Will  he  try  to  settle  that  case 
for  my  best  interest,  or  will  he  study  out  what  he  can 
get  for  himself  ?  Say  that  I  feel  slightly  ill  and  call  a 
doctor.  Will  he  say  tome,  'Greyburn,  you  must 
drink  a  little  less  sherry  and  get  to  bed  at  eleven 
o'clock;'  or  will  he  shake  his  head  and  look  grave  and 
scare  me,  if  he  can,  into  paying  him  for  a  dozer;  visits  ? 
Why,  even  the  pulpit  is  just  as  bad.  When  I  ask  my- 
self. Do  I  get  my  money  honestly  ?'  I  answer, 
with  such  examples  all  around  me,  'Yes,  more  hon- 
estly than  most  of  your  neighbors,  for  your  method 
causes  no  heart-breakings,  adds  no  sting  to  poverty, 
and  poisons  no  one's  system  with  adulterated  food  or 
drugs.'  Honest !  I'm  a  paragon,  compared  to  most 
men." 

As  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  pursue  the  subject 
farther,  silence  fell  on  the  pair  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  You  spoke  of  a  Miss  Delaporte,"  said  Reycroft, 
finally. 

"  Gabrielle  ?  Oh,  yes  !  You  haven't  seen  her, 
have  you  ?  She  has  been  quite  forgotten  in  the  mul- 
tiplicity of  other  investigations  which  we  have  been 
making.  She  must  be  produced,  for  to  visit  my  house 
and  not  see  Gabrielle,  would  be  like  climbing  the 
vSwiss  Alps  and  missing  the  Jungfrau." 

"  Must  I  ?  Had  I  better  ?"  said  Reycroft.  He 
knew  from  experience  what  to  expect  from  his  host's 
female  divinities. 

"  Must  you  ?  To  be  sure  !  You  will  see  the 
prettiest  creature  in  all  New  York.  You  will  find 
her  interesting,  too.  Scold  her,  if  you  think  proper, 
for  not  hiding  the  light  of  her  pretty  face  under  a 
bushel,  but  don't  miss  seeing  her,  or  I'll  never  forgive 
you.  Susanne,"  he  continued,  as  that  young  creature 
responded  to  his  bell,  "ask  Gabrielle  to  come  here." 

The  young  minister  was  not  made  of  stone,  and  he 


72  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

could  not  suppress  a  murmur  of  admiration  as 
Gabrielle  appeared.  She  was  a  blonde  of  petite,  but 
well-rounded,  form.  Her  wavy  hair  fell  unconfined 
about  her  shapely  shoulders.  Her  eyes  were  of  the 
deepest  blue,  and  her  mouth,  which  parted  to  show 
two  white  and  even  rows  of  pearly  teeth,  would  have 
driven  a  painter  to  distraction.  She  came  directly  to 
Greyburn  and  stood  looking  into  his  face  as  if  for 
instructions. 

"Gabrielle,"  he  said,  "  my  friend,  Mr.  Arthur." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  he  had  to  take  it.  She 
had  a  momentary  surprise  when  he  did  not  carry  it 
to  his  lips,  but  she  did  not  lose  her  self-possession. 

"  I  am  so  pleased, "she  said,  in  soft  and  fiquid  tones, 
more  musical  than  any  instrument  except  the  human 
voice  ever  produced. 

She  took  the  chair  assigned  her  and  sat  down,  look- 
ing alternately  at  the  gentlemen. 

"  Isn't  she  pretty  ?"  said  Greyburn. 

Mr.  Reycroft  started  a  little.  The  words  were  but 
echoes  of  his  own  thoughts. 

"She  is  indeed  a  perfect  specimen  of  the  handiwork 
of  God,"  he  said,  reverently. 

"  And  of  man,  also,"  smiled  Greyburn.  "  For  in 
these  days  of  prudery  the  handiwork  of  God  alone  is 
not  considered  presentable  before  a  miscellaneous 
audience.  I  will  say  this  for  Gabrielle/however.  She 
is  less  beholden  to  the  arts  of  man  for  her  good  looks 
than  any  girl  I  know  of.  She's  all  genuine.  It  doesn't 
take  a  lady's  maid  and  a  milliner  to  make  her  over 
every  morning.  She's  all  there,  Reycroft,  with  no 
deception.  A  diamond  of  the  first  water,  without  a 
flaw." 

A  good  deal  of  extra  color  rose  to  the  face  of  the 
young  minister  during  this  rather  bold  description. 
The  fact  that  the  girl's  eyes  were  on  him,  and  the 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  73 

intuitive  knowledge  that  she  felt  no  answering  blush, 
did  not  lessen  his  uneasiness. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,"  said  Grey- 
burn,  after  a  slight  pause.  "  I  want  ray  friend,  Mr. 
Arthur,  to  hear  your  answers.  You  must  speak  with 
perfect  freedom.  Are  you  ready  ?" 

She  smiled  a  sweet  affirmative. 

"  Your  name  ?" 

''  Gabrielle  Delaporte." 

u  Your  age  ?" 

"  Twenty  years." 

"  Whom  do  you  love  best  ?" 

"  The  man  who  asks  me  the  question." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  him  ?" 

"  Six  months." 

"  Answered  like  a  professional !"  laughed  Greyburn. 
"  Your  witness,  Arthur.  I  believe  you  appear  for  the 
prosecution." 

Mr.  Reycroft  hesitated  and  then  fell  into  his  vein. 

"  This  lady  is  — 

"  My  sweetheart  !     Certainly." 

"  Do  you  love  her  ?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  As  you  have  others  before  ;  how  many  ?" 

"  Oh  !  it  would  be  impossible  to  tell  that,"  said 
Greyburn,  lightly.  "  Go  count  the  sands  of  the  sea." 

"  And  as  you  will  love  others  after  her  ?" 

"  Probably,  yes.     I'm  not  a  seer  into  the  future." 

"  How  long  did  you  love  this  lady's  predecessors  ?" 

"  Different  lengths  of  time.  Sometimes  an  hour, 
sometimes  a  day,  sometimes  a  week.  Once  I  loved  a 
woman  almost  a  year,  but  I  was  very  young  then. 
Not  often  have  I  loved  one  so  long  as  I  have  ma  belle 
here." 

Turning  to  Gabrielle,  Mr.  Reycroft  said,  very 
soberly : 


74  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

"  My  child,  does  this  satisfy  you  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  she  replied. 

"  Do  you  think  his  love  and  protection  will  last  for- 
ever ?" 

"  I've  no  idea  that  it  will,"  said  Gabrielle. 

"  And  when  the  bond  between  you  breaks,  as  it  may 
any  hour " 

"  Ah  !"  she  interrupted,  "  '  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is 
the  evil.'  What  shall  we  dwellers  in  this  world  do  ? 
Must  we  never  inhale  the  fragrance  of  the  spring 
flowers  or  taste  the  luscious  fruits  of  autumn  because 
we  know  there  is  a  winter  to  come  after?  Must  we 
not  enjoy  the  glorious  sun's  painting  of  the  western 
sky  because  darkness  treads  close  on  his  skirts.  In  a 
few  days  or  years  the  mould  will  surely  cover  us  three, 
and  yet  we  sit  here  and  smile  and  chatter." 

"  It  is  infatuation  !"  cried  the  minister. 

"  Why,  then,  I  beg  you  not  to  disturb  me,"  she 
laughed.  "  If  I  am  happily-demented,  I  am  better 
off  than  if  I  were  melancholy-sane.  If  I  am  insane, 
let  us  be  thankful  for  insanity.  Yes,  and  for  love, 
that  pleasing  'delusion'  which  you  evidently  would 
have  us  abandon." 

She  came  to  Greyburn's  side  and  clasped  her  round 
arms  affectionately  about  his  neck. 

"  She's  enough  for  yon,"  said  Greyburn,  returning 
the  embrace,  and  looking  with  mingled  love  and  pride 
upon  the  fair  being  whom  his  arm  encircled. 

"  The  life  you  live  will  shorten  your  days,"  said  the 
clergyman.  "  Have  you  thought  of  that  ?" 

"  Will  it  ?  Well,  what  of  it  ?"  retorted  Gabrielle. 
"  We  live  too  long  and  too  slowly.  Five  years  of  real 
life  is  worth  a  century  of  vegetation." 

"  Right  again  !"  put  in  Greyburn.  "  Women  are 
like  strawberries,  only  good  in  their  season.  I 
don't  want  mine  green,  nor  yet  old  and  shriveled  up. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  75 

'  Whom  the  gods  love/  you  know.  And  if  the  gods 
don't  love  young  and  pretty  women,  I  haven't  much 
to  say  for  their  judgment." 

"  You  are  a  handsome  woman,"  pursued  Mr.  Rey- 
croft.  "  Do  you  know  why  ?  It  is  because  genera- 
tions of  your  ancestors  lived  honest,  sober  lives. 
They  bequeathed  you  health,  good  blood  and  a  strong 
constitution.  Your  descendants,  if  you  should  have 
any,  would  inherit  the  seeds  of  deterioration." 

"  I  did  not  make  the  world,"  she  responded,  as  if 
tired  of  argument.  "  Most  people  are  slow  enough 
to  keep  it  going.  If  my  ancestors  have  been  content 
with  an  ox-team  gait,  I  can  ride  a  few  miles  at  a  faster 
pace  without  much  harm.  As  to  my  descendants," 
here  she  looked  archly  at  Greyburn,  "they  are  not 
near  enough  to  excite  either  my  sympathies  or  my  in- 
terest. What  is  he  trying  to  get  at,  Hector  ?  I  never 
was  asked  so  many  queer  questions  in  my  life." 

Greyburn  laughed  loud  and  long. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Arthur  is  a  man  with  very 
peculiar  notions.  He  is  the  best  fellow  alive,but  prac- 
tically demented  on  one  or  two  points.  He  thinks, 
for  instance,  that  it  is  just  as  wicked  for  me  to  place 
my  arm  around  you  like  this,  as  it  would  be  if  I  drove 
a  dagger  into  your  heart." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  corrected  the  clergyman.  "  Not  quite 
so  bad  as  that  !" 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  Greyburn.  "  Sin  ought  to  have 
no  relative  sinfulness.  There  is  nothing  in  the  deca- 
logue which  you  receive  as  divine  which  intimates  that 
violations  of  the  Sixth  Command  are  greater  than 
lapses  regarding  the  Seventh." 

"  You  reason  speciously,"  said  the  clergyman.  "All 
violations  of  God's  law  are  undoubtedly  hateful  in 
His  eyes,  but  they  are  unequal  in  their  effect  on  his 
creatures.  Of  course  one  would  rather  be  told  a 


76  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

falsehood,  or  have  his  property  stolen,  than  to  lose 
his  life.  Though,  to  put  it  plainly,  and  with  no  de- 
sire to  speak  harshly,  if  that  young  lady  were  a  rela- 
tive of  mine,  I  would  rather  she  fell  by  a  dagger's 
blow,  than  to  be  the  mistress  of  the  kindest  man 
alive." 

"  Why,  you  cruel  thing  !"  cried  Gabrielle.  "  You 
would  be  just  as  bad  as  that  horrid  Roman  which 
Hector  and  I  saw  at  the  play,  who  stabbed  his  daugh- 
ter because  one  of  the  great  generals  wanted  her.  I 
was  glad  the  brute  went  crazy  in  the  next  act  and 
died  before  the  curtain  fell." 

"  Served  him  right,"  added  Greyburn,  "  though  to 
be  sure  he  had  some  provocation.  The  triumvir 
didn't  go  to  work  fair  to  get  the  girl.  It  was  a  shame, 
though,  to  shed  her  innocent  blood.  That  Virginius 
should  have  lived  some  centuries  later.  He  would 
have  made  an  excellent  member  of  Cromwell's  parlia- 
ment. But  it's  nearly  two  o'clock,  my  charmer,  and 
those  bright  eyes  of  yours  should  be  closed.  A  kiss 
and  good-night." 

Gabrielle  kissed  him.  "  I  would  do  as  much  for 
you,  sir,"  she  said  archly  to  Mr.  Reycroft,  "  if  I  wasn't 
afraid  you  had  a  dagger  or  pistol  concealed  about 
your  clothing.  I  don't  mind  anything  you  said, 
though,  and  I  hope  I  didn't  speak  too  sharply,  either, 
I  think  I  will  kiss  you,  after  all,  just  to  show  that  I 
quite  forgive  you." 

St.  Anthony  might  have  taken  the  salute  from  those 
rosy  lips  and  soothed  the  years  of  after  penance  by 
the  memory  of  its  fleeting  bliss.  Reycroft  felt  for  at 
second  how  much  the  transgression  of  Adam  has  left 
in  his  remote  descendants. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  he  found  strength  to  say,  at 
last. 

"  Well,  it's  the  first  time  that  ever  happened,"  said 
Gabrielle,  with  rnock  .pique.  "  Just  wait  till  you're 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  77 

offered  it  again  !  Hector,  will  you  not  revenge 
me  ?" 

"  Yes,  by  taking  what  he  refuses."  said  Grey  burn, 
snatching  kiss  after  kiss  from  her  unresisting  mouth. 
It's  a  revenge  which  I  would  take  on  every  man 
in  Christendom  if  he  treated  you  in  like  manner." 

"  A  nice  revenge  on  him,  that  is  !"  said  the  girl. 
"  It  seems  more  like  levying  tribute  on  me." 

"  Not  so,"  he  replied,  "  for  I  take  no  more  than  I 
leave.  Go,  now  ;  and  may  Venus  watch  over  and 
keep  you." 

She  ran  laughing  from  the  room,  and  Greyburn 
turned  to  Reycroft. 

"  You  are  indeed  adamant,"  said  he,  "  if  such  a 
creature  as  that  does  not  charm  you." 

"  I  am  not  adamant  !"  cried  the  minister,  his  voice 
trembling  slightly.  "  I  almost  wish  I  were.  I  have 
the  harder  task  of  struggling  against  temptations  and 
conquering  them.  Adamant  has  no  such  duty." 

"Then  you  are  human?"  said  Greyburn.  "It  is 
really  blood  and  not  vinegar  which  flows  in  your 
veins  ?" 

"  Such  blood,"  responded  the  minister,  "  that  were 
I  to  give  way  ever  so  little  it  would  hurl  my  soul  to 
ruin.  Were  I  to  stay  here  under  your  roof  a  month 
more  I  know  not  what  would  happen.  How  can  the 
'  livery  of  the  court  of  heaven  '  be  given  to  the  mes- 
sengers of  the  devil  ?" 

"  Do  you  call  Gabrielle  a  messenger  of  the  devil  ?" 
laughed  Greyburn.  "  By  Beelzebub !  The  fellow 
has  exquisite  taste  !  And  she  has  affected  you,  has 
she  ?  Pierced  your  heart  through  all  its  coats  of 
orthodox  mail?  Come!  We  are  friends.  There  are 
plenty  more  for  me.  You  may  have  her  for  your  own. 
Shall  I  call  her  back  ?" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  bell  rope. 

"  No  !"  cried  Reycroft,  in  a  tone  so  loud  as  to  be 


78  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

almost  ludicrous  under  the  circumstances,  and  reach- 
ing out  to  stop  him. 

"  You're  half  inclined,"  persisted  Greyburn,  tantaliz- 
ingly.  "  Really,  you're  very  welcome  if  you  want 
her.  She  won't  care.  Hadn't  you  better  ?" 

"  I  beg  of  you,"  said  the  clergyman,  excitedly, 
"  don't  tempt  me  further.  To-morrow  I  will  leave 
this  city  for  my  country  home.  I  have  realized  in  time 
the  danger  of  going  too  close  to  the  edge  of  the  pit, 
where,  in  a  moment,  one  may  be  overcome  by  its 
fumes  and  fall  headlong.  The  moth's  wings  are 
singed  just  when  he  thinks  the  light  most  beautiful 
I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  generous  hospitality, 
but  I  must  trench  on  it  no  longer.  I  will  go  home, 
where,  in  the  atmosphere  I  am  used  to,  I  can  inhale  a 
full  breath  and  regain  my  moral  strength." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  we  poor  victims  of  the  pes- 
tilence must  care  for  ourselves?"  said  Greyburn. 
"Very  well.  Only  after  you  get  your  'moral 
strength'  let  us  see  you  again.  To  me  your  visit  has 
been  extremely  pleasant  and  I  much  regret  to  lose 
you." 

"  There  is  one  thing  heavily  on  my  mind,"  said  Rey- 
croft,  changing  the  subject  :  "  Young  Campbell." 

"That  little  fool?"  said  Greyburn.  "Well,  what 
can  I  do  with  him  ?" 

"  Do  you  set  him  the  best  possible  example  ?"  asked 
the  minister,  with  a  shade  of  reproach  in  his  manner. 

"Example!  He  don't  follow  my  example  in  any- 
thing. I  take  a  glass  of  wine  or  a  mug  of  ale.  He 
takes  a  dozen  and  gets  drunk.  I  enjoy  a  quiet  even- 
ing with  a  party  of  friends.  He  paints  the  town  in  a 
hack,  and  goes  home  exhausted  with  what  he  is 
pleased  to  term  '  fun.'  I  take  Gabrielle  to  the  theater, 
return  when  it  is  over,  take  my  little  supper  and  re- 
tire. He  gets  a  front  seat  at  the  ballet,  runs  around 
to  the  stage  door,  gets  an  actress  whose  shape  has  fas- 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  79 

cinated  him  and  rushes  off  to  a  private  dining-room. 
For  goodness  sake,  Reycroft,  'an'  you  love  me,' don't 
talk  about  that  young  idiot  following  any  example  of 
mine." 

"  He  is  going  down  hill  fast,  at  any  rate,"  said  the 
minister. 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it," 
replied  the  other.  "  He  has  been  placed  under  my 
guardianship  lately,  too.  Did  you  know  that  ?  His 
sister  wrote  me  a  letter  asking  me  to  look  to  his  com- 
panionships and  surroundings." 

"  Wrote  toyvu  ?" 

"  Yes,  why  not  ?  I  am  a  very  particular  friend  of 
the  family,  now." 

"  And  what  reply  did  you  make  ?" 

"  Well,  of  course  I  didn't  wish  to  hurt  her  feelings, 
and  I  smoothed  things  over  pretty  nicely.  She's  as 
innocent  as  a  bird — in  fact,  much  more  so  than  some 
birds — and  it  will  do  her  no  good  to  know  the  truth. 
When  I  go  up  there  again,  I'll  talk  it  over  with  her." 

"  You  ought  not  to  go  there  again,"  said  the  minis- 
ter. 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  no  harm.  She's  quite  captivating, 
though,  in  her  quaint,  country  way." 

"  Greyburn,  have  you  a  female  relative  in  the 
world  ?" 

"  Not  one,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  all  the  sisters  of  my 
father's  house  and  all  the  brothers,  too." 

"  If  you  had  a  sister  like  this  Miss  Campbell,  would 
you  like  to  see  her  thrown  into  the  company  of  a  man 
like — well — like  Hector  Greyburn  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  I 
never  had  a  sister,  and  how  I  should  feel  is  more  than 
I  can  tell.  I  never  was  what  is  called  jealous,  and  I 
hope  I  should  be  reasonable.  Good  night.  Don't  let 
Gabrielle's  face  come  between  you  and  slumber." 

Arthur  Reycroft  tried   in  vain  all  the  rest  of  that. 


80  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

night  and  late  in  the  morning  to  sleep,  but  he  could 
not.  The  face  of  Gabrielle  did  come  between  him 
and  slumber.  The  scene  of  the  previous  evening  was 
enacted  over  and  over  again,  and  her  blue  eyes 
seemed  always  fixed  in  softest  languor  upon  him. 

When  he  rose  to  dress,  late  the  next  day,  more 
tired  than  when  he  went  to  bed,  a  thought  of  Clara 
Campbell  came  into  his  mind,  and  he  half  resolved  to 
make  a  visit  to  Springdale  and  give  her  a  quiet  warn- 
ing. Upon  consideration,  he  decided  that  he  would 
seem  contemptible  as  a  revealer  of  secrets,  and  he 
changed  his  mind.  Had  he  not  done  so  this  history 
would  never  have  be^n  written. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WINTER  has  passed  and  it  was  summer  again.  June, 
the  month  of  roses  and  of  love,  is  almost  ended. 
Springdale  lies  in  its  valley,  wearing  its  dark-green 
garment  like  a  maiden  who  is  unused  to  suitors,  but 
who  waits  patiently  the  call  inevitable  whenever  it 
shall  please  Heaven.  The  scent  of.  newly  mown  hay 
fills  the  warm  air.  The  village  school  is  closed.  The 
little  village  school  mistress  wanders  along  the  side 
of  the  half-mountain  which  looks  on  Springdale  from 
the  north — and  she  is  not  alone. 

Their  journey  was  made  ostensibly  in  search  of 
strawberries,  but  the  fruit  was  not  plenty,  and  their 
baskets  were  nearly  as  empty  as  when  they  came. 
Slowly  they  walked,  pausing  often  to  note  some  es- 
pecial object  in  the  scenery,  or  to  mark  the  sudden 
uprising  of  a  startled  bird,  which  they  had  uninten- 
tionally alarmed.  Strangely  familiar  they  seemed  for 
people  who  had  met  but  once  before  that  week,  but 
the  perfect  innocence  and  confidence  of  the  girl,  and 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  8 1 

the  well-bred  ease  of  the  man,  accounted  for  that. 
To  her  brother's  kind  friend  Clara  felt  that  she  owed 
every  possible  attention.  He  found  at  first  a  novelty 
in  the  very  naivete  of.  the  child,  for  so  he  called  her, 
which  charmed  and  held  him.  But  almost  before  he 
was  aware  of  it,  there  arose  a  new  feeling.  He  be- 
gan to  think  with  uneasiness  of  going  home.  He 
liked  to  hear  the  voice  and  to  watch  the  movements 
of  this  rustic  beauty. 

Early  each  morning  he  left  his  room  in  the  village 
tavern  and  strolled  down  to  the  old  parsonage  with 
some  ready  excuse  for  a  brief  call.  Sometimes  he 
caught  her  at  her  household  duties,  and  she  never 
seemed  a  bit  ashamed.  Not  the  less  charming  did  he 
find  her  when  her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  at  the  dish- 
pan  or  the  oven,  and  the  dress  of  printed  muslin  fitted 
loosely  about  her  girlish  figure.  Every  afternoon,  as 
early  as  he  thought  it  reasonable,  he  went  for  his 
formal  call  ;  and  after  tea  they  walked  together  up 
the  hilly  road  to  see  the  sun  set,  and  wandered  slowly 
back  in  the  twilight.  Very  pleasant  was  all  this  to  the 
man  of  thirty-two,  this  fellow  who  had  seen  his  cup 
of  life  brimming  and  had  almost  drained  its  pleasures 
dry. 

What  they  talked  of  neither  could  have  told  an  hour 
after.  It  was  of  as  much  consequence  as  of  what  the 
robins  twittered  about  in  the  trees  overhead.  But, 
on  the  last  day  which  he  was  to  spend  with  her,  he 
grew  more  sober  as  they  walked  over  the  hills.  He 
felt  that  he  must  say  something  more  than  the  ordin- 
ary simplicities.  Again  and  again  he  essayed  the 
task,  but  words  failed  him.  What  was  the  matter 
with  this  roue,  this  man  of  the  world  ? 

The  knowledge  that  he  was  hopelessly  entangled 
had  been  dawning  on  him  gradually.  At  first  he 
tried  to  laugh  it  off.  He  !  It  was  ridiculous  !  In 
love  with  a  girl  who  had  never  been  ten  miles  from 


82  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

her  own  doorstone  !  In  love,  as  novels  picture  love, 
with  all  its  elements  of  fear  and  doubt  and  faintheart- 
edness !  What  would  Mendall  say,  and  Perkyns  and 
Middleby  ? 

He  could  not  throw  his  snares  one  by  one  around 
this  creature  and  watch  with  unmoved  brain  her 
pretty  struggles  to  escape.  He  could  not  dazzle  her 
with  the  prospect  of  a  gayer  life  in  the  city.  He 
could  not  undermine  her  womanly  virtue  by  making 
light  of  purity  in  his  old,  easy  way.  Those  women 
who  capitulated  under  a  week  s  siege  were  not  at  all 
like  Clara  Campbell. 

"  I  go  to-night,"  he  said,  as  he  half  reclined  on  the 
ground  near  where  Clara  sat  braiding  leaves  and 
flowers  into  a  garland. 

"  To-night  ?"  she  repeated,  with  a  little  start. 
"  Yes.     I  have  been  here  a  week.     Does  it  seem  so 
long  ?" 

"  Is  it  a  week  ?"  she  answered,  incredulously. 
"  Yes,  just   seven    days.      I   came  on   Thursday. 
Friday  I  called  on   you  the  first  time.     Saturday  I 
came  again,  Sunday  I  went  to  church  to  hear  you  sing. 

Monday " 

"  You  should  have  gone  to  church  to  hear  the  ser- 
mon," she  interrupted,  in  a  manner  that  was  meant  to 
be  impressive. 

"  Probably,"  he  replied.  "  But  being  a  truthful 
man,  I  must  repeat  that  I  went  there  to  hear  you  sing. 
As  witness  the  fact  that  I  recall  the  words  of  the 
hymn  very  well,  while  I  cannot  remember  even  the 
text  of  the  sermon." 

"  Then  you  did  wrong,"  said  Clara. 
"  1  fear  I  do  wrong  very  often,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
no  one  to  tell  me  when  I  stray.  It  would  have  suited 
me  better  to  lie  in  some  shady  nook  by  the  little 
stream  which  flows  through  the  valley  down  there, 
than  to  have  heard  the  best  sermon  ever  written. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  83 

But  to  hear  you  sing  I  endured  the  close  air  of  the 
church,  once,  twice,  yes,  I  really  believe,  three  times 
that  day." 

She  was  silent.  He  wondered  if  he  had  said  too 
much.  He  had  not  meant  his  words  for  flattery,  but 
he  feared  they  would  sound  like  it,  and  hastened  to 
break  the  stillness. 

"  I  was  born  in  the  country,  and  it  seems  very 
natural  to  be  there  again.  I  feel,  while  climbing  the 
hills  and  treading  the  valleys,  like  a  traveler  who 
comes  to  his  home  after  many  years  of  wandering. 
When  a  boy  I  liked  nothing  better  than  to  go  alone 
into  the  woods  and  stay  there  days  and  nights  to- 
gether. The  earth  seems  to  me  now  as  it  did  then, 
the  kind  bosom  of  a  mother,  to  which  we  can  always 
fly  when  the  vexations  of  life  oppress  or  discourage 
us." 

"  And  in  whose  arms  we  are  at  last  enfolded  for  an 
eternal  sleep,"  said  Clara,  gravely. 

"  Have  you  ever  read  what  Walt  Whitman  says 
about  that  ?"  he  asked.  "  He  calls  grass  the  uncut 
hair  of  graves." 

"  I  never  read  it,"  she  said,  "  but  I  think  the  ex- 
pression is  very  beautiful." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  can't  understand,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  and  that  is,  while  I  find  the  country  in  one 
sense  as  it  was  in  my  boyhood,  in  another  there  is  a 
great  change." 

"In  what  way?" 

"  I  can  hardly  tell.  It  is  as  if  something  had  gone  out 
of  it.  Here  it  is  June.  The  sun  shines  hotly.  The 
insects  drone  sleepily,  the  grass  is  green,  the  sky  is 
blue.  But  let  me  lie  here  a  moment  and  give  myself 
up  to  reverie  and  I  am  transported  back  to  the  old 
days.  1  feel  a  warmer  sun,  I  hear  a  louder  hum  as  the 
insects  pass,  I  see  a  greener  grass  and  a  bluer  sky. 
Then  I  rouse  myself  and  it  disappears.  I  cannot  1111- 


84  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

derstand  it,  but  the  rivers  are  not  so  clear,  the  birds 
sing  less  sweetly  and  the  air  of  the  hills  has  lost  its 
exhilaration.  I  suppose  it  must  be  because  I  am 
growing  old." 

The  last  expression  drew  from  the  girl  a  light 
laugh. 

"  Wrinkled  and  gray  as  you  are,  how  can  you  ex- 
pect to  see  and  hear  ?"  she  said.  "  You  do  very  well 
to  walk  without  a  cane." 

"  It  is  no  laughing  matter,"  he  responded,  "  to  have 
passed  your  thirty-second  birthday.  The  fourteen 
years  before  you  reach  that  advanced  period,  Miss 
Campbell,  ought  to  be  worth  more  than  all  the  rest  of 
your  life." 

"  Thirteen  years,"  she  corrected,  "  for  I  am  now 
nineteen.  They  will  soon  be  gone,  and  I  shall  not 
regret  them  if  they  are  wisely  spent.  That  is  the 
main  thing  after  all." 

"  Supposing  that  one  has  passed  those  thirteen 
years  and  cannot  look  back  upon  them  with  satisfac- 
tion from  your  point  of  view,"  said  Greyburn,  looking 
earnestly  at  her.  "  Supposing  he  sees  little  there  but 
what  he  ought  to  regret." 

"  Then  I  should  pity  him  very  much,"  she  answered, 
"and  advise  him  to  be  careful  of  what  was  left — the 
future  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  Roman  Catholic  !"  he  burst  out. 
"  I  should  feel  easier  after  a  confession." 

"  Let  me  be  your  priest,"  she  answered,  and  in- 
stantly repented  having  done  so,  when  it  was  too  late. 

"  If  you  only  could  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  And  when  I 
had  finished,  if  you  could  say,  '  I  absolve  thee.'  But 
I  fear  you  would  like  me  less  afterward.  You  do  like 
me  a  little  now — Oh,  yes  !  you  needn't  deny  it — and 
I  couldn't  afford  to  lose  it,  little  as  it  is." 

"  I  certainly  respect  you,"  she  said,  in  some  doubt 
as  to  whether  it  was  exactly  what  she  ought  to  say. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  85 

"  Then  I  will  not  give  you  cause  to  lessen  that  re- 
spect by  unveiling  my  life,"  said  he. 

"You  go  to-night,  remember,"  she  replied,  "and 
whether  you  will  ever  see  me  again  is  doubtful.  Leave 
me  the  hope  that  whatever  has  been  wrong  in  your 
life  will  be  amended." 

"  Never  see  you  again  !"  he  exclained,  starting  to 
his  feet.  "  Do  you  place  a  bar  on  my  ever  coming  to 
Springdale  ?" 

"  I  thought — I  only  meant "  she  stammered. 

"  Never  see  you  T  he  went  on,  wildly.  "You,  who 
are  all  I  care  for  now  in  the  whole  world  !  Clara,  I 
love  you — I  adore — I  worship !  Do  not  let  me 
frighten  you.  I  know  it  is  hopeless.  You  are  too 
pure,  too  good,  to  link  your  life  with  mine.  My  love 
is  beyond  control.  It  has  taken  my  tongue  out  of  my 
possession.  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  weep."  Her  tears 
were  flowing  freely.  "  I  will  try  and  say  no  more. 
Why  did  I  throw  myself  between  you  and  your  peace- 
ful, innocent,  happy  life  ?" 

She  looked  up  through  her  tears  and  he  saw  with 
inexpressible  relief  that  her  features  bore  no  trace  of 
anger. 

"  Do  you  forgive  me  ?"  he  entreated,  humbly. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  pardon,"  she  said  in  a  low  voicej 
"  but  I  fear  from  your  words  that  God  has.  His 
smile  is  much  more  needed  by  you  than  mine.  I  do 
not  believe  you  are  the  greatest  offender  in  the  world, 
but  if  you  were  you  might  go  in  trust  to  Him  who  has 
said  :  '  Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet  they  shall  be 
white  as  snow  ;  and  though  they  be  red  like  crim- 
son they  shall  be  as  wool.'  " 

He  uncovered  his  head  in  no  pretended  reverence 
as  she  repeated  the  sacred  words. 

"  I  have  heard  that  before,  more  than  once,"  said 
he,  in  a  low  tone,  "  but  to  me  it  has  no  meaning.  I 
have  so  little  spiritual  nature.  Everything  in  me  has 


86  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

been  subordinated  to  pleasure.  I  have  lacked  nothing 
that  money  could  procure,  and  I  thought  that  in- 
cluded all.  Until  this  week  I  believed  myself  the  hap- 
piest man  in  the  world.  Now  I  would  give,  oh  !  so 
willingly  !  everything  I  possess  if  I  could  say,  '  Clara 
Campbell,  I  am  an  honest  man  ;  I  have  lived  a  life 
worthy  to  join  with  yours  ;  will  you  be  my  wife  ?'  I 
cannot  say  it.  Like  a  man  drowning  within  sight  of 
the  harbor,  I  can  only  regret  the  folly  it  is  too  late  to 
undo.  I  am  sinking  !  sinking  !  sinking  !" 

There  was  an  agony  in  his  voice  that  went  to  her 
heart. 

"  Speak  not  so  hopelessly,"  she  said,  gently.  "  You 
are  yet  )roung,  with  long  years  of  life  probably  before 
you.  What  is  past  cannot  be  helped,  but  all  in  ad- 
vance is  yours." 

"  And  you  will  not  hate  me  ?"  he  cried. 

"  Surely  I  would  never  do  that.  You  have  the 
ability  to  win  my  highest  regard,  and  I  hope,  I  trust, 
I  pray  that  you  will  do  it." 

"  But  never  your  love  ?"  said  Greyburn.  "  Never, 
never,  whatever  happens,  your  love  ?" 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  that,"  said  the  girl,  a  shadow 
coming  over  her  features,  and  the  tears  rising  again. 
"  Let  us  speak  rather  of  the  resolutions  you  are  to 
make  and  fulfill.  You  have  talents  and  should  find  a 
noble  place  in  the  world.  But  we  must  be  going. 
As  we  walk  toward  home  promise  me  that  you  will 
respect  my  request." 

"  When  may  I  come  and  see  you  again  ?" 

"  When  you  can  say,  '  I  have  done  as  you  advised.' 
But  you  had  better  write  at  first.  I  will  answer,  and 
I  may  be  able  to  help  you  in  that  way." 

"  If  I  had  any  faith  in  myself,"  said  he,  with  a  dis- 
heartened sigh,  "  I  would  promise  whatever  you 
might  ask,  but  I  have  no  confidence  that  I  shall  per- 
severe when  I  am  away  from  your  influence.  I  will 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  8? 

try,  however.  Yes,  I  will  keep  trying,  and  at  least  I 
will  write,  for  that  I  shall  consider  a  great  privilege." 

They  walked  on,  and  when  they  reached  the  gate 
of  her  cottage  he  said,  suddenly  : 

"  If  suffering  and  regret  would  blot  out  recorded 
transgressions,  the  page  where  mine  are  kept  would 
be  virgin  white  to-day.  I  am  going  from  all  I  love 
back  to  the  place  where  lies  all  I  have  learned  to  de- 
spise. I  turn  from  the  gates  of  Paradise  to  seek  again 
the  portals  of  Hades.  Give  me  some  hope,  ever  so 
little,  and  I  will  rest  content.  Clara,  some  day,  if  I 
become  what  you  would  have  me " 

"  Hush  !"  she  said,  softly.  "  Say  nothing  in  your 
present  impetuous  mood.  Remember  that  I  am  an 
orphan,  without  a  protector  in  the  world.-  Good-bye  ! 
Write  to  me  when  you  reach  home.  And — don't  for- 
get !" 

She  was  gone.  He  walked  back  to  the  hotel  and 
ordered  his  horse  to  be  saddled  at  once.  The  land- 
lord endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  eat  some  supper, 
but  he  said  he  had  no  appetite. 

"  Do  you  ride  far,  to-night  ?"  asked  the  landlord. 

"  To  New  York,"  he  replied,  absently. 

"  Forty  miles  !"  exclaimed  mine  host.  "  Say,  this 
won't  do.  Besides,  you.  are  not  looking  well.  You 
won't  take  a  bite  ?  Well,  at  least  let  me  get  you  a 
tumbler  of  brandy.  I  have  some  in  the  cellar  thirty 
years  old,  that  my  father  bottled.  Just  one  glass. 
It'll  do  you  lots  of  good." 

Greyburn  turned  from  the  man  almost  angrily  and 
sprang  into  the  saddle.  His  intelligent  animal  set 
off  at  a  brisk  trot,  which  he  soon  exchanged  for  a 
canter,  and  horse  and  rider  disappeared  down  the 
road  in  a  twinkling. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  what  that  means,"  said  the 
tavern-keeper,  nodding  his  head  sagely  to  his  wife, 
who  stood  in  the  doorway  to  witness  the  guest's  de- 


88  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

parture.  "That  fellow  has  been  here  a  week  and 
has  spent  the  most  of  it  at  the  old  parsonage  or  walk- 
ing around  by-roads  with  Miss  Campbell.  They  say 
he's  a  great  friend  of  Walter's,  but  I'm  thinking  he 
hasn't  stayed  here  a  week  on  his  account.  Did  you 
see  his  face  ?  He  looked  like  a  ghost,  and  I  know 
they  was  off  together  all  the  afternoon.  By  hokey  ! 
Do  you  suppose  he  asked  her  to  marry  him  and  got 
the  mitten.  I'd  bet  that  load  of  hay  standing  under 
the  shed  there  that's  just  what's  happened." 

"  Bah  !"  exclaimed  his  wife.  "  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Judson.  Do  you  suppose  Clara  Campbell  is  a  born 
idiot  !  Without  a  cent  of  her  own,  except  that  little 
tumble-down  house,  do  you  thing  she'd  refuse  a  man 
who's  rolling  in  money  ?  No,  sir,  it's  something 
deeper  than  that." 

"  Weil,  perhaps  you'd  better  tell  us  all  about  it,  if 
you  know  so  much,"  said  the  husband,  ironically. 
"  I'm  sure  of  one  thing,  the  fellow  looked  all  broke 
up,  and  he'd  just  left  Clara  at  her  gate,  for  I  see  'em 
myself  as  I  was  driving  up  the  road.  And  I  know 
another  thing,  he  was  as  bright  as  he  ever  was  at  one 
o'clock,  when  he  eat  his  dinner,  and  went  down  the 
lane  whistling  like  a  boy.  Now  he's  rode  off  like  a 
wild  man,  and  if  he  don't  kill  that  ere  hoss  before  he 
gets  to  New  York,  I  miss  my  guess  ;  that's  a  blamed 
fine  hoss,  too,"  he  added,  regretfully. 

"  Don't  ye  fret  about  that  hoss,"  remarked  the 
stable  boy,  who  came  up  just  in  time  to  hear  his  mas- 
ter's closing  words.  "  Mr.  Grey  burn  thinks  more  o' 
that  Robin  than  he  would  of  a  child.  I'll  bet  that 
hoss  would  go  on  a  canter  all  the  way  to  York  an'  not 
hurt  him  a  bit,  an'  he'd  do  it  inside  o'  three  hours, 
too." 

"  Probably  he  thinks  more  of  that  hoss,  Sam,  than 
he  does  of  the  minister's  darter,"  said  the  landlord, 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  89 

with  the  view  of  ascertaining  whether  any  ideas 
worth  having-  could  be  got  out  of  the  boy. 

"  I  don't  know  nothin*  about  that,"  said  Sam,  "  but 
if  that  ere  Robin  was  mine,  I  wouldn't  swap  him  for 
all  the  gals  this  side  o'  Kal'mazoo.  An'  he's  the  gen- 
tleman !  See  what  he  chipped  me  as  he  was  startin' 
off." 

The  boy  exhibited  a  five  dollar  bill,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  the  innkeeper  and  his  wife. 

"  See  here  !  Part  of  that  belongs  to  me,"  said  the 
landlord,  advancing  suddenly,  as  if  to  claim  his  rights, 
then  and  there,  vi  et  armis. 

"  Don't  ye  wish  ye  may  get  it,"  said  the  youth,  deris- 
ively, springing  out  of  reach.  It  was  as  useless  to 
follow  him  as  to  try  to  catch  a  squirrel.  He  went 
down  the  lane  singing,  and  the  landlord  sorrowfully 
followed  his  wife  into  the  house. 

But  Greyburn  !  where  was  he  ? 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FAST  and  faster  through  the  cool  evening  air  sped' 
Robin  and  his  rider.  Greyburn's  brain  was  all  in  a 
whirl.  For  the  first  few  miles  his  rapid  thoughts 
seemed  to  be  leaving  his  old  life  behind  him  and 
speeding  onward  to  a  new  one.  Then  it  changed,  and 
every  step  seemed  taking  him  back  to  the  scene  of  all 
his  sin,  made  doubly  hateful  by  the  awakening  he  had 
just  experienced.  Involuntarily  he  slackened  the  pace 
of  his  beast,  until  at  last,  ten  miles  from  Springdale, 
he  came  to  a  walk  and  then  to  a  dead  stop.  Indecision 
took  possession  of  the  rider.  He  dismounted  and 
threw  himself  on  the  ground  under  a  tree  near  the 
roadside,  leaving  the  horse  to  crop  the  rich  herbage 
which  grew  by  the  fences.  The  moon  rose  early  and 


90  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

found  him  there.  A  terrible  conflict  was  going  on  in 
his  mind.  At  last  a  town  clock  in  the  distance  broke 
the  stillness  by  sounding  twelve  strokes.  Greyburn 
stepped  slowly  and  mechanically  to  where  Robin 
awaited  him.  Mounting  the  faithful  beast  again,  he 
turned  his  head  once  more  in  the  direction  of  Spring- 
dale.  He  rode  slowly  at  starting,  as  if  not  yet  quite 
decided.  Then,  suddenly,  he  burst  out  with  the 
exclamation  : 

"  I  must  do  it  !"  and  giving  the  word  and  rein  to 
his  horse  he  rode  at  great  speed  toward  the  village 
he  had  quitted  five  hours  before. 

Clouds  crossed  the  moon's  face.  A  quick,  sharp 
summer  shower  came  on  and  drenched  him  to  the 
skin.  His  clothing  was  splashed  with  mud. 

Entering  the  village,  he  reduced  his  horse's  pace  to 
a  walk.  He  turned  into  a  lane  and  slipped  to  the 
earth. 

"  Wait  there,  Robin,  till  I  come,"  he  whispered,  and 
walked  slowly  across  the  field  until  he  could  see  the 
old  parsonage. 

Everything  was  as  still  as  death,  save  the  soft  drip- 
pings from  the  trees  and  the  old  house  as  the  remains 
of  the  shower  fell  drop  by  drop  to  the  grass  below. 
The  clouds  across  the  moon  favored  his  purpose,  and 
made  him  less  likely  to  be  observed. 

He  knew  the  house  well.  A  giant  elm  stood  close 
to  one  side.  He  climbed  the  tree  as  quietly  as  a  cat 
could  have  done.  When  even  with  the  attic  window, 
which  stood  open,  he  passed  his  body  from  the  tree  to 
the  inside  of  the  house. 

Was  he  bent  on  burglary  or  murder  ?  Either  might 
have  been  suspected  from  his  actions. 

Stealthily  he  glided  along  the  floor.  The  house  was 
built  with  solid  oak  timbers  and  no  sound  betrayed 
his  presence.  He  reached  a  stairway.  Descending- 
slowly  he  came  to  a  door.  Until  this  moment  he  had 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  9! 

lost  no  time.  Now  he  hesitated.  Only  for  a  moment, 
however.  Then  he  turned  the  knob  and  without  a 
sound  stepped  into  the  room. 

It  was  Clara  Campbell's  chamber.  The  moon  steal- 
ing out  from  the  clouds  at  the  moment,  threw  its 
light  upon  the  scene.  In  her  snowy  drapery,  upon 
the  little  cottage  bedstead,  lay  the  school-teacher. 
Her  pure,  almost  angelic  face  was  turned  to  the  light. 
One  white  arm  hung  over  the  edge  of  the  couch. 
Her  quiet  breathing  was  all  that  suggested  life. 
Otherwise  she  might  have  been  a  wonderful  statue  of 
marble. 

Greyburn  stood  for  some  minutes  gazing  upon  the 
scene.  His  mind  was  torn  by  conflicting  emotions. 
At  one  moment  he  wished  he  had  not  come.  At  the 
next  he  banished  all  such  thoughts  and  tried  to  think 
how  next  to  proceed.  A  slight  rustle  decided  him, 
and  with  two  steps  he  was  at  Clara's  side.  He  hastily 
planted  himself  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  with  a 
quick  motion  covered  her  mouth  with  one  hand,  at 
the  same  time  holding  her  so  that  she  could  not  move, 
and  whispering  excitedly  that  it  was  he — that  it  was 
Hector,  and  she  must  not  be  afraid. 

Clara  Campbell  was  intensely  startled  when  she 
awoke  and  found  herself  thus  clasped  in  Greyburn's 
arms.  She  had  always  felt  as  safe  in  the  old  house 
as  though  a  regiment  of  soldiers  guarded  her.  She 
knew  it  contained  nothing  in  worldy  wealth  to  make 
it  a  likely  place  for  robbers  to  attack,  and  in  her 
pure  soul  she  never  dreamed  it  necessary  to  have 
another  person  on  the  premises  as  a  protection  to  her- 
self. After  retiring  the  previous  evening  she  had 
lain  awake  for  hours  thinking  of  Greyburn  and  his 
strange  confessions.  Until  that  day  she  had  never 
thought  of  him  as  an  evil  being.  His  goodness  or 
badness,  morally,  had  never  entered  into  the  account. 
She  had  supposed  from  the  generosity  which  he  had 


92  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

showed  to  Walter  that  he  was  one  of  the  few,  better 
than  the  average,  and  had  respected  him  accordingly. 
During  the  visit  he  had  just  made  to  Springdale  he 
had  done  his  best,  until  the  very  end,  to  convey  a  good 
impression,  and  Clara  had  learned  to  like  him  ex- 
tremely well.  Unpleasant  as  were  the  events  of  the 
day,  they  had  not  served  to  take  this  "  liking"  from 
her  heart.  After  he  left  her,  her  whole  thought  in  re- 
gard to  him  took  the  vein  of  sympathy.  He  seemed 
to  her  like  a  soul  under  conviction,  as  her  father 
would  have  said,  and  the  religious  element  was  so 
strong  in  her  that  his  condition,  seen  in  that  light, 
over-balanced  all  other  considerations.  She  dropped 
asleep  with  his  troubles  deep  upon  her  mind,  and 
when  she  awoke  it  did  not  seem  so  strange  as  it 
might  have  been  to  find  him  before  her  eyes.  Still 
the  time,  the  place,  and  her  own  unprotected  condi- 
tion served  to  fill  her  with  instant  alarm.  She  re- 
flected that  he  had  accused  himself  of  being  sinful 
almost  beyond  his  own  control.  His  present  con- 
duct was  not  calculated  to  inspire  confidence.  Her 
maidenly  modesty  joined  in  the  protest  made  by  her 
fears  and  even  overbalanced  them  She  struggled 
for  a  minute,  in  spite  of  his  repeated  protestations 
that  he  meant  no  harm  and  would  release  her  the  in- 
stant she  would  consent  to  hear  quietly  what  he  had 
to  say.  Finally  her  reason  returned  and  she  lay  pas- 
sive. 

"Clara,  darling  Clara!"  said  Greyburn,  speaking 
rapidly,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  do  not  fear  me.  I 
would  not  harm  you  for  a  million  worlds.  I  know  I 
should  not  have  come  here,  and  I  do  not  expect  you 
will  ever  forgive  me  for  it,  but  my  feelings  overcame 
me.  I  love  you  so,  my  dearest,  that  I  could  not  resist 
spending  one  more  hour  with  you — an  hour  that 
everything  seems  to  tell  me  will  be  the  last.  I  rode 
as  fast  as  I  could  away,  but  your  face  kept  calling  me 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  93 

back.  To  go  on  was  to  reach  again  my  old  associa- 
tions, and  I  did  not  dare  go  among  them  as  I  felt 
to-night.  Here,  under  this  roof,  I  knew  dwelt  purity, 
innocence  !  everything  with  which  life  should  be 
adorned.  I  felt  that  I  must  see  you.  To  ring  at  the 
door  would  have  been  worse  than  useless  at  this  hour, 
and  I  entered — like  a  thief — at  the  attic  window.  I 
came  not  to  profane,  but  to  adore.  I  came  to  get 
strength  to  meet  my  adversaries  on  the  morrow.  Do 
not  drive  me  away.  Forget  the  hour  and  your  attire, 
and  remember  only  a  distracted  fellow-creature,  who 
craves  your  pity  and  begs  your  sympathy.  If  I  seem 
rude,  it  is  not  because  I  would  be  so,  but  to  prevent 
you  from  alarming  the  village,  and  thus  bringing  a 
worse  fate  upon  yourself.  Darling  Clara — Miss 
Campbell — say  that  you  will  answer  me  in  your 
ordinary  voice  and  I  will  gladly  let  you  speak.  You 
will  ?  Then  do  so,  and  let  your  first  words  deal  as 
gently  with  me  as  they  may." 

"  Mr.  Greyburn,"  said  Clara,  her  voice  trembling  in 
spite  of  her  attempts  to  force  it  into  calmness,  "in 
the  name  of  all  that  you  hold  dear  I  ask  you  to  leave 
this  house  as  quickly  as  possible.  Every  moment  you 
stay  is  fraught  with  the  most  terrible  danger  to  us 
both.  Were  it  known  that  you  came  here  my  reputa- 
tion would  be  forever  blasted.  If  you  care  for  me  as 
you  say  you  do,  lose  not  an  instant  in  complying  with 
my  request." 

She  saw  his  flushed  face  pale  in  the  moonlight  and 
witnessed  his  teeth  set  themselves  together. 

"  Clara,"  he  said,  "if  to  stay  doomed  me  to  the  gal- 
lows I  would  not— could  not— go.  I  have  forfeited 
everything  now,  and  I  will  not  be  driven  away  by  any 
such  argument  as  the  one  you  advance." 

"  Then,"  she  said,  her  voice  growing  stronger  as  she 
proceeded,  "do  at  least  this  thing  for  me.  Go  down 
to  the  parlor  and  wait  there  until  I  can  dress  and 


94  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

join  you.     If  you  cannot  do  that,  never  let  the  word 
'  love'  pass  your  lips  again." 

He  looked  into  her  face  doubtfully. 

"And  if  I  go,"  he  asked,  "have  I  your  word  of 
honor  that  you  will  join  me  there  ?  Will  you  promise 
not  to  make  any  sound  to  alarm  the  neighbors  or  try 
to  escape  ?  Pardon  me,  my  best-beloved,  if  I  make 
conditions.  You  see  I  am  desperate.  If  you  will 
give  your  word  to  what  I  ask  I  will  go.  If  you  break 
it  after  it  is  given,  God  only  knows  where  this  will 
end." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Clara.  "  Now  hasten — go — do 
not  delay  until  some  new  fancy  seizes  you." 

"  I  will  go,"  he  replied,  "  but  give  me  one  kiss.  I 
must  have  that.  I " 

"Hector  Greyburn  /"  She  tore  herself  from  his 
arms  with  extraordinary  strength.  He  quailed  be- 
fore the  look  she  gave  him  and  stole  like  a  guilty 
creature  from  the  room. 

The  instant  he  closed  the  door,  she  sprang  and 
bolted  it,  and  then  fell  on  her  knees.  Her  lips  moved 
a  moment  in  prayer.  Then,  hastily  dressing  herself, 
she  sought  Greyburn  down  stairs. 

"I  am  here  as  I  promised,"  was  her  greeting,  as 
he  sprang  up  to  receive  her.  "  Now  once  more  I  beg 
— I  implore — you  to  go." 

"Not  until  I  have  talked  with  you,"  he  said.  "  Not 
until  you  give  me  some  hope.  Clara  !  If  I  knew  you 
would  be  the  reward  at  the  end — no  matter  how  long 
or  how  hard  the  road— I  could  persevere.  But  what 
have  I  to  look  to  ?  This  night  makes  or  unmakes  me. 
Clara  !  If  you  knew  my  life  !  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  going  back  to  it,  and  yet  without  you  I 
must  go  back.  To  win  you  I  will  do  anything.  I 
know  that  what  I  said  yesterday,  and  especially  what 
I  am  doing  to-night,  cannot  raise  me  in  your  estima- 
tion, unless  you  look  beyond  appearances  into  my 


THOU    SHALT      NOT.  95 

heart  and  see  how  wholly  desolate  it  is.  Say  that 
you  will  be  my  wife  !  I  will  never  be  harsh  with  you. 
I  will  love  you  as  no  other  woman  was  ever  loved. 
I  will  abandon  all  evil  and  at  your  feet  learn  to  do 
well.  Do  not  say  no." 

He  turned  his  white  face  toward  her  and  she  pitied 
him  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  If  she  had  felt 
aversion  it  was  all  gone  now. 

"  Hector,"  she  said,  softly,  "  you  should  not  yield 
to  such  tempests  of  passion  as  this.  I  could  not  have 
one  particle  of  respect  for  myself  if  I  answered  as 
you  wish  under  such — what  shall  I  call  it — compul- 
sion. Think  what  you  are  being  led  to  do.  Out  of 
what  you  believe  is  your  love  for  me,  you  are  pos- 
sibly inflicting  an  injury  which  you  can  never  live 
long  enough  to  efface.  Should  it  become  known  to  a 
single  person  that  you  were  in  this  house  at  this  hour, 
I  am  ruined.  Do  as  I  tell  you.  Go  back  to  the  city. 
Strive  to  do  what  is  right.  Send  me  letters  and  I 
will  answer  them.  Curb  your  rashness  and  remem- 
ber that  you  are  a  man  ?" 

Greyburn  sat  like  one  dazed.  She  saw  that  he  was 
yielding  and  pressed  her  advantage. 

"  Mr.  Greyburn — Hector— for  my  sake,  go  at  once!" 

He  rose  mechanically  and  followed  her  to  the  rear 
door.  She  unlocked  it  and  he  stepped  out  into  the 
night.  Something  in  his  face  told  her  he  would  not 
break  his  resolution.  She  bade  him  good-bye  in  a 
low  voice  and  turned  to  close  the  entrance,  when  a 
new  sound  stayed  her.  It  was  a  noise  as  of  scuffling 
on  the  lawn.  She  stepped  outside  again  and  saw  two 
figures  engaged  in  a  passionate  struggle.  One  of 
them  was  Greyburn.  She  sprang  to  the  place  where 
the  fighting  was  going  on.  Then  she  saw  that  the 
other  was  John  Dinsmore.  It  was  no  child's  play 
that  was  taking  place.  Two  athletes  had  met  and  the 
quarrel  was  not  a  light  ope. 


96  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

"  Stop  /" 

At  her  voice  Greyburn,  who  had  the  advantage  of 
hold  at  that  moment,  released  it,  and  both  men  stood 
confronting  each  other  and  her. 

"What  does  this  mean  ?"  she  demanded,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  with  imperious  glances. 

"Ask  him,"  said  Greyburn,  alluding  to  the  black- 
smith. "Ask  him  why  he  sprang  on  me  like  a  tiger 
and  tried  to  strangle  me." 

"John  Dinsmore,  is  this  true  ?" 

The  blacksmith  disdained  to  reply  directly.  "Let 
it  pass,"  he  said.  "  He  and  I'll  meet  ag'in." 

"  No,  you  shall  not  go,"  said  Clara,  stepping  in  front 
of  him.  "  I  wish  to  know  who  gave  you  authority  to 
assault  my  guest." 

"  Your  guest  ?"  repeated  Dinsmore,  looking  at  Clara 
and  then  at  Greyburn.  "  Your  guest !  At  two  o'clock 
in  the  night  !  and  you  alone  !  and  with  a  man  o'  that 
character  !  Do  you  own  it  ?" 

Greyburn  did  not  allow  Miss  Campbell  to  reply  to 
this. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  arousing  the  village  and  bringing 
a  scandal  on  this  house,"  he  said,  "  I'd  teach  you  man- 
ners. I  will,  as  it  is,  if  Miss  Campbell  will  permit  me." 

He  actually  looked  at  her  for  consent,  as  if  he  half 
expected  it. 

Dinsmore  replied  by  a  contemptuous  glance. 

"  Once  more  I  ask  you,"  said  Clara,  "  why  you 
trouble  my  guest  ?  Why  do  you  constitute  yourself 
my  guardian  ?  Why  do  you  spy  around  my  house  in 
the  night  time  ?  Answer  me,  John  Dinsmore  !" 

"  A  perfect  gentleman  !"  he  ironically  muttered. 
"  White  hands,  diamonds,  money.  Any  hour  will  do 
for  him" 

He  strode  off  across  the  fields. 

"You  see  what  trouble  you  bring  to  me,"  said 
Clara,  looking  after  the  retreating  form  with  tears  in 


THOU   SHALT   NOT,  97 

her  eyes.  "  Do  not  waste  another  instant  in  going1. 
Get  to  the  city  as  fast  as  you  can.  And  another 
thing,"  she  continued,  as  she  saw  him  preparing  to 
obey,  "lookout  for  that  man.  He  bears  you  no  good 
will  and  I  am  afraid  he  is  dangerous.  He  has  known 
Walter  and  I  ever  since  we  were  babies  and  he  will 
not  tolerate  anything  which  he  thinks  will  harm  us-. 
Many  a  night  I  have  known  him  to  get  up  from  his 
bed  and  come  and  watch  my  house.  Had  he  been 
early  enough  to  see  you  enter  he  might  have  done  you 
serious  in  jury.  Hector — I  mean  Mr.  Greyburn — don't 
treat  this  matter  lightly,  but  have  a  thought  for  your 
safety." 

"  You  would  care,  then,  if  he  killed  me  ?"  said 
Greyburn,  a  look  of  joy  stealing  over  his  face. 

"  How  shocking  !  Of  course  I  should  care,"  cried 
the  girl  ;  and  then  she  added  in  a  sort  of  sad  half- 
earnest  tone,  "  You  must  not  die  until  you  are  better 
prepared  than  now." 

"Never  so  well  as  when  the  brightest  of  all  the 
angels  stands  ready  to  receive  my  soul,"  he  replied, 
with  affected  gayety.  Then  seeing  that  the  levity  of 
his  answer  pained  her,  he  added  :  "  Farewell,  my 
guardian  spirit.  I  will  try  to  become  worthy  of  you." 

She  walked  with  him  to  where  Robin  stood  wait- 
ing, and  bade  him  good-bye  as  he  rode  down  the  lane. 

"  Don't  forget  !"  were  her  last  words.  "  John  is  a 
desperate  man." 

She  ran  as  far  as  the  high  road  to  see  him  safely 
beyond  the  little  bridge  at  the  forge,  and  returned 
with  her  eyes  blinded  with  tears. 

"  Wicked  as  he  is — wrong  as  he  was  to-night,"  she 
sobbed,  "  I  would  not  like  any  harm  to  happen  to 
him."  And  kneeling  once  more  by  her  bedside,  she 
prayed  : 

"  O  God  !  dear  God  !  bless  Hector  and  keep  all  evil 
from  bringing  him  to  hurt." 


98  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 


CHAPTER  IX 

GREYBURN  rode  until  sunrise,  and  then,  bethinking 
himself  that  his  horse  had  gone  quite  far  enough 
since  yestereve,  he  stopped  at  a  country  hotel  for  rest. 
The  day  which  followed  was  very  warm,  and  he  kept 
indoors  until  evening,  when  he  remounted  and 
finished  the  journey  to  his  city  home.  His  mind  was 
in  a  tangle.  He  almost  wondered  as  he  ascended  the 
high  steps  of  his  residence  whether  this  was  the  man 
who  used  to  occupy  that  house  or  some  stranger  who 
looked  enough  like  him  to  pass  the  doorkeeper.  He 
went  to  his  room,  vouchsafing  the  briefest  answers  to 
the  "  Good-evenings  "  of  the  servants.  Throwing 
himself  heavily  into  a  cushioned  arm-chair,  he  sat  for 
a  long  time  in  silence. 

"  A  week  ago," — so  his  thoughts  ran — "  I  left  this 
house  a  happy,  careless,  contented  being,  for  a  run 
into  the  country.  I  was  going  to  have  a  little  visit 
with  a  girl  who  was  nothing  to  me,  and  whom  I  did 
not  expect  I  should  ever  wish  to  be  anything.  I  in- 
tended to  pass  a  week  in  the  fresh  air,  with  country 
living,  good  scenerj,  and  a  cheerful,  pretty  compan- 
ion. Now  I  return,  dispirited,  unhappy.  Something 
without  a  name  has  taken  control  of  me.  I  have 
avowed  the  possession  of  a  pure  love — I,  Hector 
Greyburn,  the  libertine,  the  practiced  seducer,  who 
have  always  boasted  a  contempt  for  everything  called 
virtuous.  I  have  promised  a  little,  unpracticed 
country  girl  to  leave  all  my  former  habits,  and  em- 
brace others  which  I  have  hither  to  despised,  all  in 
exchange  for  her  love.  Am  I  mad  ?  Is  this  myself  ? 
Is  this  my  house  ?  Am  I  the  man  I  was,  or  has  some- 
thing changed  me  into  another  ?  Give  up  wealth 
ease,  all  for  one  pair  of  bright  eyes  !  Impossible  ! 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  99 

And  yet,  I  do  love  her.  Clara  Campbell,  deny  it  as  I 
may,  it  is  true.  I  love  you  !  I  love  you  !" 

A  knock  came  at  the  door  and  Nettie's  face  peeped 
in. 

"  Mr.  Walter  Campbell  is  here,  sir.  Will  you  see 
him  ?" 

"  No  !  No  !  Wait  !  Let  me  think.  Walter  here  ? 
What  time  is  it  ?  My  watch  has  not  been  wound  to- 
day." 

"  It  is  about  one  o'clock,  sir.  Mr.  Campbell  wished 
particularly  to  see  you." 

"  Shall  I  ?"  muttered  Greyburn  to  himself.  Then 
raising  his  head  he  said,  "  Show  him  into  the  back 
parlor  and  say  I  will  be  there  presently." 

He  turned  up  several  of  the  burners  in  the  dimly- 
lighted  chandelier  and  took  a  survey  of  himself  in 
the  pier-glass.  He  was  white,  tired-looking,  almost 
haggard.  His  raiment  still  showed  the  marks  of  the 
muddy  ride,  for  in  his  rest  at  the  hotel  his  mind  had 
been  too  busily  occupied  to  think  of  his  personal  ap- 
pearance. 

"  I  look  more  like  an  escaped  lunatic  than  a  city 
gentleman,"  he  mused,  and  proceeded  to  make  the 
necessary  alterations  in  his  attire,  stopping  at  the  end 
to  apply  cologne  to  his  face,  and  especially  to  his  eye- 
lids, in  an  endeavor  to  take  away  the  weary  expres- 
sion. He  also  essayed  a  brighter  look,  and  practised  a 
smile  of  two  before  the  mirror  ere  he  turned  away. 

"  Ah  !  Walter,"  he  said,  cordially  greeting  the 
young  man  as  he  entered  the  room  where  he  waited, 
"  I  did  not  expect  a  caller  to-night,  but  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  always." 

"  I  rang  and  found  that  you  had  returned,"  re- 
sponded Walter,  "  and  thought  a  brief  call  would  not 
be  out  of  place.  I'd  been  to  the  theatre  and  after 
that  had  a  game  of  billiards  with  some  fellows. 
Come  to  start  home  I  felt  confoundedly  dull,  and 


IOO  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

thought  you  might  cheer  me  up  a  bit.  You're  always 
so  full  of  spirits,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Greyburn,  absently,  and  hardly  bear- 
ing out  the  description.  How  much  the  lad  looked 
like  Clara  ! 

"  Where  did  you  go?"  queried  Walter,  after  wait- 
ing in  vain  for  his  companion  to  say  more. 

"  Where  ?"  repeated  Greyburn,  with  a  slight  start. 
"  Oh,  into  the  country.  Up  among  the  hills.  Just  for 
a  run.  Nothing  special."  His  voice  would  have  be- 
trayed him  with  a  more  experienced  judge  than 
young  Campbell. 

How  much  Walter  looked  like  his  sister  ! 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  with  you,"  said  the  other. 
"  Terribly  dull  here.  The  theatres  are  positivel)' 
awful.  Nothing  on  but  trash,  you  know  !  I've  run 
down  to  Long  Branch,  but  there's  no  fun  there.  The 
beaches  around  here  are  insufferable.  The  country 
would  do  for  a  change,  but  I  probably  sha'n't  go  any- 
where this  year  for  long.  I  wish  winter  was  here 
again.  There's  always  something  in  the  winter." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Greyburn,  again.  It  was  Clara's 
face,  but  not  her  voice.  Their  eyes  were  very  nearly 
alike.  He  was  considerably  the  taller. 

"  Come,  what's  up,  old  fellow  ?"  said  Walter,  with 
the  familiarity  which  boon  companionship  had  taught 
him.  "  You're  not  as  cheerful  as  usual  to-night. 
One  would  think — ha  !  ha  ! — that  you'd  fallen  in  love  ?" 

"  I  have,"  said  Greyburn,  desperately. 

He  spoke  with  such  a  peculiar  intonation  that  the 
young  man  ceased  to  smile  and  looked  deeply  inter- 
ested instead. 

"  You  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  in  love  !  And  sober 
as  a  church  deacon  over  it,  too  !  What's  the  matter, 
old  man  ?  You  haven't  met  your  match  at  last,  have 
you  ?  Don't  tell  me  that  the  girl  has  sent  you  flying. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  1 01 

What  would  the  boys  say  if  I  should  bring  them  such 
a  story.  No,  I  don't  believe  it  myself." 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  if  you  please,  by  telling  them 
nothing.  It's  not  their  business." 

"  Probably  it's  not  mine,  either,"  said  Walter,  hotly. 
So  Clara's  eyes  had  flashed  when  he  asked  her  to  kiss 
him  ! 

"Walter,  my  boy,"  he  said,  very  gently,  "I  only 
meant  the  others,  not  you.  If  I  had  not  wanted  you 
to  know,  would  I  have  told  you  ?" 

The  young  man  was  mollified  instantly. 

"  I  was  too  quick  !"  he  said.  "  I  always  am.  No 
one  but  you  would  bear  with  my  temper.  But  I  am 
all  curiosity.  Tell  me  about  it.  It  seems  so  incredible. 
She  is  handsome,  of  course." 

"  The  fairest  creature  earth  ever  beheld,"  said 
Greyburn,  reverently. 

"  To  be  sure.  And  young,  of  course.  Virtuous  to 
the  core  and  lovely  to  distraction.  All  this  goes  with- 
out saying  when  she  has  captivated  you.  But  how 
was  it  that  j^our  arts  didn't  work  ?  Did  your  magic 
power  lose  its  efficacy  ?  Did  the  evil  genii  steal  your 
fairy  wand  ?  Or  was  she  protected  by  bands  of  bright 
spirits,  who  came  in  just  at  the  wrong  moment  and 
overcame  your  charms  ?  You  see,  I  have  been  to  a 
spectacular  play  to-night  and  these  things  suggest 
themselves  perforce." 

Greyburn  heard  this  ironical  speech  with  strange 
feelings.  What  would  Walter  say  if  he  knew  of 
whom  they  were  speaking  ? 

"You  jest  almost  too  much,"  he  said,  presently. 
"You  see  lam  not  in  your  mood." 

"  I  see  it  has  hit  you  hard,"  replied  Walter,  "  but  it 
will  be  sure  to  come  out  all  right  in  time.  When  you 
get  over  your  blueness  a  little  you  will  go  to  the 
attack  with  renewed  courage.  It  will  be  hard  for  me 


IO2  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

to  believe  a  woman  lives  who  can  withstand  yon, 
when  you  really  try.  Tell  me  more  about  her." 

"  She  is  nineteen,"  said  Greyburn,  looking  the  lad 
in  the  eyes  like  one  fascinated. 

"Just  the  age." 

"  Fair-haired." 

"  The  sweetest  kind." 

"  An  orphan." 

"  Excellent !" 

"  Poor." 

"  Best  of  all." 

"  And  very  beautiful."  • 

"  So  you  said  before.  Well,  Hector  Greyburn,  if 
you  can't  win  a  girl  of  that  description  to  your  will, 
you  ought  never  to  show  your  head  at  the  Club  again. 
An  orphan,  did  you  say  ?  Any  old  uncle  or  guardian 
about  ?" 

"  Not  a  soul,"  said  Greyburn,  with  startling  dis- 
tinctness. "  Not  a  protector  in  the  world.  Nothing 
but  her  own  strong  sense  and  innate  purity  to  guard 
her." 

Would  not  Walter  understand  ?  It  seemed  as  if 
they  had  almost  spoken  the  name. 

"  It's  your  lucky  star  !"  cried  the  visitor.  "  Such 
chances  only  fall  to  those  who  are  under  the  guidance 
of  the  beneficent  planets.  And  you  can't  bend  this 
girl !  You  give  her  up  ?  You  ?" 

Could  it  be  that  this  man  was  her  brother  ? 

"Supposing,"  said  Greyburn,  very  deliberately, 
"  that  I  had  fallen  so  deeply  in  love  that  I  could  not 
bear  to  think  of  profaning  my  idol  !  Supposing  that 
I  had  decided  to  offer  her  marriage  !" 

Walter  burst  into  a  wild  laugh. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered,  as  soon  as  he 
could  control  himself.  "  It  was  d — d  impolite,  but  if 
I  was  to  die  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"What  would  you  say  were  I  to  tell  you  in  sober 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  103 

earnest  that  I  shall  do  exactly  that  ?"  pursued  Grey- 
burn,  entirely  unruffled  by  the  outburst. 

"Why,  what  everybody  would  say  !"  cried  Walter, 
"if  you'll  excuse  the  expression;  that  you  were  a 
fool  !"  He  laughed  again. 

"  Why  !"  persisted  Grey  burn. 

"  Haven't  you  told  us  a  hundred  times  why  ?  Must 
I  go  on  and  reiterate  to  you  your  own  arguments? 
Marriage,  the  grave  of  love  !  The  cursed  compact 
which  ties  two  souls  in  lingering  agony  until  blessed 
death  cuts  the  hated  cord  !  The  humdrum-life  which 
only  idiots  will  consent  to  lead  !  Or  shall  I  draw  the 
contrast,  as  you  so  often  have  done  for  me,  between 
that  state  and  the  blissful,  ecstatic,  etherealized  loves 
of  the  unwedded  ?  Loves  which  can  be  broken  at 
will  and  resumed  at  pleasure  !  Loves  like  those  of 
the  feathered  songsters  of  the  air,  the  variegated 
flowers  on  the  hillside,  or  the  evening  dews  which 
greet  the  summer  grasses  at  sunset  and  hie  away  at 
daybreak !  Marriage,  the  miserable  dregs  of  the 
tapster's  ale-barrel  !  Love,  the  champagne  spark- 
ling from  the  vaults  of  the  Widow  Cliquot  !  Why, 
indeed  !" 

Greyburn  recognized  each  of  the  expressions  thrown 
at  him  with  such  reckless  audacity. 

"Do  you  deny  the  truth  of  the  lessons  you  have 
taught  your  pupils  ?"  laughed  Walter,  with  a  mock- 
serious  air.  "  Will  the  teacher  tell  his  class  that  he 
was  wrong  when  he  said  that  the  earth  was  round, 
and  that  it  went  every  year  of  its  life  on  a  pleasure- 
trip  about  the  sun  ?" 

Greyburn  scarcely  heard  him.  He  was  thinking 
how  much  there  was  like  Clara  in  the  way  he  carried 
his  head.  The  eyes  were  the  same.  The  hair  a  little 
darker.  The  mouth — yes,  there  was  the  difference. 
When  Walter  ceased  to  speak,  his  challenging  words 


104  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

seemed  to  come  back  like  a  dim  echo,  and  the  burden 
of  them  penetrated  Greyburn's  mind  at  last. 

"  You  will  perhaps  admit,"  he  said,  "  that  if  I  have 
taught  you  wrongly,  I  ought  to  set  you  right  now. 
Not  by  precept  only  but  by  example." 

"And  do  you  really  seriously  think  of  getting 
married  ?"  asked  Walter. 

"If  the  woman  I  love  will  marry  me." 

"  Oh,  that's  in  doubt,  is  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  is  poor,  you  say  ?" 

"She  is." 

"With  no  expectations  ?" 

"  None." 

"  Does  she  know  you  have  money  ?" 

"  She  knows  it  all." 

"  Then  she  doesn't  think  you  are  in  earnest,"  said 
Walter. 

"  She  knows  I  am  fearfully  in  earnest  ;  that  I 
would  marry  her  to-night  if  she  would  let  me." 

"  She  hasn't  refused  you  ?" 

"  She  has  done  just  that." 

"  She  will  repent  and  change  her  mind." 

"  If  I  thought  she  wouldn't — "  began  Greyburn  ; 
and  then  added,  with  a  look  and  tone  which  removed 
the  last  trace  of  doubt  in  Walter's  mind,  "  No  matter 
what  I've  said  in  the  past,  I  mean  what  I  say  now.  I 
shall  quit — entirely,  absolutely  and  forever — the  life 
I  have  been  leading." 

Walter  hesitated. 

"  Will  you  leave  this  house  ?" 

"  Most  certainly." 

"Bat— Nettie — Susan  ne— Gabrielle." 

"  I  will  think  of  those  things  by-and-bye.  I  am  re- 
solved to  go.  The  detail  I  can  arrange  later." 

"  It  quite  startles  me,"  said  Walter.  "  I  can't  com- 
prehend it.  I  only  wish  I  was  able  to  step  in  when 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  10$ 

you  step  out.  If  you  sell  the  furnishings,  save  me  a 
piece  or  two  of  bric-a-brac.  By  Jove  !  A  happy 
thought  !  Commend  me  to  Gabrielle."  He  broke 
into  a  snatch  of  song  : 

"  I'm  dying  for  some  one  to  love  me  !" 

"  Are  you  ever  serious  ?"  said  Greyburn,  looking  at 
the  young  man  with  something  indescribable  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  begin  to  preach  !"  cried  Walter, 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  Don't  enter  the  pulpit  just  yet. 
If  you're  determined  past  all  remedy  to  go  to  the  dogs 
yourself,  don't  scold  your  friends  quite  so  soon  for 
following  your  old  ways.  Well,  it's  after  two,  and  I 
must  be  going.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  replied  Greyburn.  He  held  the  ex- 
tended hand  an  instant  longer  than  usual. 

"  I'll  not  speak  to  any  one  about  what  you've  told 
me,"  said  Walter.  "You  may  let  it  out  when  you 
please.  I  shall  still  hope  for  your  recovery.  There 
is  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  club  next  Thursday,  you 
know.  Don't  throw  that  up  as  your  parting  act.  It 
wouldn't  leave  a  good  impression.  Think  this  matter 
all  over — candidly  and  prayerfully,  as  they  say — and, 
if  you're  still  of  the  same  mind,  break  it  to  us  dra- 
matically at  the  dinner.  Put  out  your  best  wine  and 
let  us  take  leave  of  you  in  the  correct  style.  And 
say  !  Don't  forget  to  speak  to  Gabrielle.  I'm  first, 
you  know." 

Greyburn  went  to  his  room,  threw  himself  on  a  sofa 
and  burst  into  tears. 

Yes.  He  couldn't  help  it.  It  seemed  so  much  as  if 
Clara  had  been  there — there  in  that  house — which 
the  gold  of  the  Orient  would  not  have  induced  him  to, 
let  her  enter  even  for  a  moment. 


IO6  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WHEN  Greyburn  awoke  the  next  morning  he  lay 
for  an  hour  or  more  in  bed,  thinking-.  His  intentions 
of  reform  were  still  strong  in  his  mind  and  made  the 
basis  of  his  calculations  ;  but  now  more  than  a  day 
had  passed  since  he  left  Clara,  and  her  influence  was 
not  quite  so  strong  as  yesterday.  He  still  meant  to 
leave  his  old  associations,  but  there  seemed  no  need 
of  undue  haste.  He  thought,  on  reflection,  that  he 
had  better  not  be  rash  about  it.  Last  night  he  would 
have  sacrificed  every  dollar  he  had  and  have  been 
quite  content  with  an  empty  pocket  and  Clara  Camp- 
bell's love.  This  morning  it  seemed  to  him  that 
money  was  not  so  undesirable  a  thing  after  all,  and 
that  a  fellow  to  whom  fortune  had  given  a  share  of 
it,  ought  to  treat  the  gift  with  becoming  respect.  All 
his  plans  still  centered  in  Clara,  all  his  hopes  were  in 
her  coming  to  like  him  after  he  had  made  himself 
what  she  would  have  him  be.  The  difference  in  his 
mood  was  this.  He  was  less  under  the  control  of  ex- 
citement and  more  under  that  of  ordinary  reason. 

He  ate  the  eggs  and  coffee  which  Nettie  brought 
him,  and  went  down  the  street  for  a  walk.  Passing 
near  his  banker's  he  bethought  himself  of  an  errand 
there.  Taking  a  check-book  from  his  pocket  he  in- 
serted figures  for  a  small  amount  and  passed  the 
paper  in  to  the  cashier.  That  functionary  turned  to 
his  ledger,  then  said  : 

tf  Your  account  is  already  overdrawn,  sir,  more  than 
a  thousand  dollars." 

"  Impossible  !"  ejaculated  Greyburn. 

"There  is  no  mistake,  sir.  See — June  20,  four 
hundred  and  eighty  dollars — June  26,  eight  hundred 
and  seventy-six  dollars — July  i,  one  thousand  six 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars " 


THOU    SHALT    NOT.  IO/ 

"  Let  me  see  the  checks,"  said  Greyburn.  The 
cashier  brought  them  to  him. 

"Here  they  are,  sir.  You  see  they  are  all  right, 
'  Pay  to  order  of  self — 480-876.'  " 

Greyburn  looked  a  good  deal  puzzled  as  he  surve)Ted 
the  checks  and  saw  his  signature  so  plainly  written  at 
the  end  of  each.  He  could  not  remember  ever  having 
drawn  or  signed  them,  and  the  last  two  were  dated 
while  he  was  in  the  country,  when  he  knew  he  had 
drawn  no  money. 

"  You  see  they  are  all  right,"  repeated  the  cashier, 
for  want  of  something  else  to  say.  It  was  quite 
evident  from  Greyburn's  look  that  they  were  not  all 
right. 

"  They  all  seem  to  be  here,"  he  said.  "  I  must 
have  forgotten  some  of  them.  Let  me  see— who  came 
for  the  money  ?" 

"  A  young  man  about  twenty-one  or  twenty-two, 
who  has  been  here  for  you  before,  drew  some  of  them. 
Mr.  Johnson  !  You  know  that  young  man  who  drew 
the  money  on  the  check  for  Mr.  Greyburn  the  other 
day.  You  spoke  to  him,  you  remember." 

"  Mr.  Campbell  ?"  queried  the  person  addressed. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Campbell.  He's  a  clerk  at  City  Hall,  I 
believe.  Of  course  it's  all  right,  sir." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !"  said  Greyburn,  with  perfect  calm- 
ness. "  I  recollect  now.  It's  not  like  me  to  overdraw. 
How  much  am  I  short  ?" 

"  Just  one  thousand  and  thirty-seven  dollars  and 
twenty-six  cents,  sir." 

"Very  well.  I'll  turn  some  stocks  and  cover  it  in  a 
day  or  two.  I  must  have  lost  my  reckoning." 

It's  no  matter,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  president  of 
the  bank,  who  had  overheard  the  conversation  from 
an  adjacent  desk,  and  now  came  forward  with  a 
smiling  countenance.  "  Don't  incommode  yourself,  I 


IOS  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

beg.  Take  your  time,  Mr.  Greyburn  ;  take  your 
time." 

"  Thank  you," 'said  Greyburn.  He  walked  out  on 
the  street,  with  the  checks  in  his  hand.  Hailing  a 
passing  carriage,  he  drove  straight  to  City  Hall  and 
entered  the  office  where  Walter  Campbell  sat  writ- 
ing. 

"  Can  I  see  you  alone  for  a  few  minutes  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Walter.  "  Here,  step  in  this 
way."  Then,  when  the  door  was  closed,  "  You're 
looking  better  than  )*ou  were  last  night,  old  fellow. 
I  knew  sleep  would  bring  you  around.  Have  you 
given  up  the  crazy  scheme  you  unfolded  to  me,  or 
are  you  still  determined  to  wreck  your  life  on  matri- 
monial shoals  ?" 

"Do  you  see  those  checks?"  demanded  Greyburn, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  young  man's  speech. 

"  Do  I  see  them  ?  I  see  something  ;  yes,  they  are 
checks.  Paid  checks.  Been  through  the  bank,"  said 
Walter,  taking  them  and  eying  them  quizzically. 
"  Like  squeezed  lemons.  You  couldn't  raise  much  on 
them  now." 

"  Who  filled  them  out  ?  Who  wrote  that  name  at 
the  end  ?  Who  collected  the  amounts  specified  in  the 
corners  ?"  demanded  Greyburn,  getting  out  of  temper. 

"  Well,  I  should  say,"  said  Walter,  turning  and  hold- 
ing one  of  the  checks  to  the  light,  that  the  name  at 
the  end  was  '  H.  Greyburn.'  Not  very  clear,  and  yet 
tolerably  distinct.  I  presume  he  could  tell  you  all 
about  them." 

Greyburn  gave  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"I've  just  come  from  the  bank,"  he  said,  with  ris- 
ing voice,  "  and  the  cashier  tells  me  you  drew  this 
money,  two  thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty-five 
dollars.  Do  you  deny  it  ?" 

"  Does  he  say  so  ?"  queried  Walter.  "  The  cashier  ? 
What's  his  name,  oh,  yes  !  Mr.  Stedman,  He  says 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  109 

that  I  drew  this  money,  does  he  ?  Well,  I  would  not 
like  to  dispute  him  if  he  is  sure  of  it.  These  cashiers 
are  pretty  good  at  remembering,  you  know." 

Greyburn  was  rather  taken  aback  at  this  tacit  confes- 
sion, and  still  more  so  at  the  cool,  unconcerned  way 
in  which  young  Campbell  made  it. 

"  Drop  your  nonsense,  Walter,"  he  said,  "  and  tell 
me  what  this  means.  You  have  forged  my  name  for 
two  thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars 
and  drawn  the  cash.  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  You  knew 
I  would  have  lent  you  money  if  you  had  asked  for  it, 
as  I  have  so  often  done  before.  Why  take  and  steal 
it  behind  my  back?  I  did  not  think  you  were  a 
thief,"  he  added,  becoming  exasperated  to  see  that 
Walter  gave  no  sign  of  appreciating  his  position. 

"  Didn't  you  ?"  said  Campbell,  with  a  mocking 
smile.  "Thanks  for  your  good  opinion,  I'm  sure. 
Wish  I  could  return  the  compliment." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  demanded  Grey- 
burn,  advancing  toward  his  companion.  "  Is  it  not 
enough  to  rob  me  without  adding  insult  to  it  ?" 

Walter  looked  perfectly  unmoved. 

"  No  hard  expressions,  my  friend,  if  you  please. 
They  won't  settle  a  thing  like  this.  If  they  would  I 
could  meet  words  with  words.  The  place  we  are  in  is 
not  the  best  one  in  the  world,  either,  in  which  to  come 
to  an  understanding.  I  called  at  your  house  last  night 
on  purpose  to  tell  you  about  these  checks  and  save 
you  trouble  at  the  bank.  You  were  not  feeling  well, 
and  so  I  passed  it  for  the  time.  Let  it  go  now  until 
this  evening  and  I  will  call  up  and  explain  it  to  your 
satisfaction." 

"  You  will  explain  it,  as  you  call  it,  now  and  here," 
said  Greyburn,  "or  you  will  explain  it  to  the  Tombs 
judge.  Say  what  you  have  to  say  quickly  or  I  shall 
call  an  officer." 

Walter  laughed  discordantly. 


IIO  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"  If  he  takes  me  he'll  take  you,  too,"  he  said. 
"  There'll  be  a  pair  of  us.  I'll  take  pot  luck  with  you." 

Greyburn  hesitated. 

'•  Arrest  me,  would  they  ?"  he  queried.  "  You  for 
the  forgery  and  me  for  being  victimized,  I  suppose." 

"Bah  !"  cried  Walter,  throwing  off  his  mock  levity. 
"  Do  you  want  me  to  talk  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  why  you 
don't  dare  have  me  arrested  ?  Do  you  think  I  don't 
know  all  about  you — how  you've  made  your  money — 
how  you  and  Mendall  have  grown  rich  ?  Did  you 
suppose  I  would  be  blind  forever,  a  mere  mole  toiling 
in  the  earth  to  make  it  produce  for  you,  and  I  get 
nothing  ?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Greyburn,  coldly. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  replied  Walter,  ironically. 
"  You  wouldn't  like  to  understand  me.  It  would  have 
suited  you  better  if  I  had  never  understood  you,  either. 
But  I  have  the  secret  now.  I  know  as  well  as  you  or 
Mendall  how  to  coin  money  at  my  will.  I  know  more 
than  either  of  you,  for  I  now  have  both  ends  of  the 
puzzle,  and  you  will  have  neither  unless  I  choose  to 
give  it  to  you.  And  to  think  that  I  have  been  drudg- 
ing here  at  fifty  dollars  a  week  while  you  have  spent 
your  twenty  thousand  a  year  !  You  the  prince — I 
the  serf.  You  the  giver  of  the  feast — I  the  humble 
recipient  of  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  your  table. 
Have  me  arrested,  will  you  ?  Try  it  on  !  By  turn- 
ing State's  evidence  against  you  I  should  be  bailed, 
pardoned,  and  feted  like  a  king.  Don't  I  know  ?  A 
petty  forgery  of  three  thousand  dollars  against  frauds 
of  millions.  Ha !  ha  !  Why  don't  you  call  your 
officer  ?" 

The  angry  look  on  Greyburn's  face  changed. to  an 
expressionless  one  as  his  companion  continued  his 
speech.  He  evidently  did  not  know  exactly  what 
reply  to  make. 

"  You  would   have  a  nice  time   convicting  me   of 


THOU    SHALT   NOT,  III 

fraud,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "  I'm  not  the  fool  you 
do  me  the  honor  to  think.  No  one  can  lay  a  finger  on 
anything  criminal  in  my  career.  Possibly  I've  taken 
advantage  of  situations,  but  never  in  a  compromising 
way.  However,  Walter,  we  won't  quarrel.  Let  the 
checks  go.  Only  don't  repeat  it." 

"  You'd  better  call  the  officer,"  jeered  Campbell. 
"  You'll  be  sorry  if  you  don't.  It  would  be  so  excit- 
ing !  Think  of  the  newspapers  to-morrow,  with  big 
head-lines,  '  Hector  Greyburn  Arrested — Frauds  in 
the  Millions!'" 

"  One  would  think  I  had  been  your  worst  enemy," 
cried  Greyburn,  the  perspiration  breaking  out  all  at 
once  on  his  forehead,  "  instead  of  a  steadfast  friend, 
always  trying  to  get  you  advanced  in  position  and 
ready  to  bear  with  every  caprice.  Walter,  what  has 
come  over  you  lately  ?" 

"You'd  better  call  the  officer,"  repeated  Campbell. 
"  You  said  you'd  call  him.  Why  don't  you  ?" 

"  Enough  of  that  !"  said  Greyburn.  "  I've  said 
you  are  welcome  to  the  value  of  the  checks.  Of 
course  we  must  part  after  what  has  passed,  but  we'll 
part  as  friends.  Go  your  own  way  and  I'll  go  mine. 
If  you  were  in  the  mood  to  listen  to  advice,  I  would 
give  you  some  ;  but  you  are  not.  Let  me  say  only 
this — there  are  ways  of  doing  certain  things,  and  there 
are  other  ways.  One  way  is  safe,  the  other  dangerous. 
In  one  way,  a  man  may  go  on  to  fortune  and  never 
risk  his  liberty.  In  the  other,  the  slighest  misstep 
will  send  him  behind  the  bars.  I  wish  you  well,  Wal- 
ter, upon  my  word  I  do.  And  all  I  have  to  say  to 
you  in  parting  is,  '  Be  cautious.'  " 

"  Never  you  fear,"  replied  the  young  man.  "  I 
understand  the  ropes  now  as  well  as  the  next  one. 
I'll  take  my  turn  at  ease  and  luxury.  Fine  houses, 
fast  horses,  rich  wines  and  pretty  women  will  suit  me 
as  well  as  another.  I've  been  stifling  in  boarding- 


112  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

house  quarters  long  enough.  I've  counted  my  cash 
for  the  last  time  to  see  whether  I  could  afford  an 
opera  box  or  a  petit  souper  for  two.  Now  I  am  made. 
The  doors  of  fortune  are  open  to  me.  It  is  just  as 
easy  as  saying  it.  On  the  whole,  I'd  just  as  lief  you 
wouldn't  call  an  officer.  My  liberty  even  for  a  week 
would  be  worth  too  much  to  me  now." 

"  Walter,"  said  Greyburn,  whose  mind  became  lost 
on  Clara  again,  "  I  wish  I  might  talk  to  you  a  little 
before  I  go." 

"  Say  what  you  please,"  said  Walter,  very  much 
mollified.  "  I'll  listen." 

"  I've  trod  the  path  you  are  entering,"  pursued 
Greyburn,  "for  fourteen  years.  I  entered  it  a  boy 
and  I  am  now  almost  thirty-three  years  old.  I  have 
had  all  that  money  could  bestow.  I  need  not  tell  you 
the  life  I  have  led.  What  I  wish  to  say  is,  I  would 
give  half  the  days  I  have  left  to  blot  out  those  which 
I  have  wasted — worse  than  wasted — since  fortune 
found  me.  Pleasure  is  not  everything.  Gratification 
of  each  desire  is  not  all  that  a  man  wants  to  make 
him  happy.  There  will  come  a  time,  my  boy,  when 
an  unquiet  conscience  will  make  all  your  pleasures 
seem  as  naught.  That  time  has  come  for  me.  Wal- 
ter, you  are  young.  The  world  is  before  you.  You 
have  talents.  Let  me  advise  you  to  live  in  such  a 
way  that  you  will  never  look  back  upon  any  act  with 
shame  and  sorrow." 

Walter  closed  his  eyes  in  mock  solemnity. 

"  We  will  close  with  the  benediction,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "  Greyburn,  it  is  quite  providential.  You 
have  lived  this  gay  life,  and  now  wish  to  step  out  of 
it.  I  haven't  lived  it,  and  I  wish  very  much  to  step  in. 
You  got  your  funds  in  a  way  which  your  conscience 
will  not  allow  you  to  continue  to  practice.  I  will  get 
mine  in  the  same  way,  having  no  conscience  to  trouble 
me.  It  is  excellent,  You  will  dispose  of  your  house, 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  1 13 

because  it  is  associated  with  deeds  which  you  desire 
to  efface  from  your  memory.  I  will  buy  it,  because  I 
purpose  entering  the  same  road  that  you  are  leaving- 
You  would  throw  Annie,  Nettie,  Susanne,  and  that 
seraphic  Gabrielle  out  on  the  cold,  cold  world.  Tres 
bien!  I  will  take  them  all.  If  there  were  a  hundred 
I  would  take  them.  Your  taste  has  never  been  im- 
peached. Pass  everything  over  to  me  for  so  much 
cash — all  in  a  lump,  as  it  were.  Pull  down  the  old 
sign,  put  up  the  new  :  "  Walter  Campbell — successor 
to  Hector  Greyburn.  Business  Carried  on  as  Usual 
at  the  Old  Stand.'  " 

Walter  paused  to  break  into  a  laugh  which  lasted 
for  nearly  a  minute. 

"  Greyburn,"  he  went  on,  when  he  could  catch  his 
breath,  "  I  forgive  you.  Upon  my  soul  I  do  !  Every- 
thing— that  threat  to  call  the  officer,  and  all.  I  will 
be  magnanimous  with  my  predecessor.  You  say 
you've  tried  it  and  it  has  palled  on  you.  Well,  I'll  try  it 
too.  As  you  sa}%  we  won't  quarrel.  That  little  matter 
of  the  checks  was  not  strictly  en  regie,  but  it  was  all 
right,  after  all.  We  had  been  business  partners — 
Mendall,  you  and  I — and  you  didn't  divide  fair  with 
me.  The  little  amount  I  raised  on  your  credit  doesn't 
settle  it,  either,  but  we'll  let  it  go  at  that.  I  shall 
soon  have  enough  to  supply  all  my  wants.  There  is 
a  big  scheme  on  foot — the  biggest  yet — and  I  am  solid 
on  every  detail  of  it  from  beginning  to  end.  I  could 
sell  the  information  outright  for  enough  to  buy  your 
house  and  furniture  and  put  a  deposit  into  the  bank 
big  enough  to  keep  me  going  a  year.  It's  a  regular 
bonanza.  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  as  you  are  going 
out  of  the  trade,  but  I  don't  say  where  it  is,  and  no- 
body else  who  could  tell  would  tell.  Oh  !  I'll  fix  my- 
self up  in  a  few  months,  old  fellow  !  I'm  going  to  live 
for  a  little  while — live  like  a  lord  !" 

It  was  of  no  use  talking  to  him,  Greyburn  felt  that, 


114  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

and  they  parted.  One  all  elation,  the  other  more  de- 
pressed than  ever. 

Crossing  the  square,  Greyburn  met  Jacob  Mendall. 
He  drew  that  individual  into  a  neighboring  restau- 
rant, and  sought  a  private  room  upstairs. 

"The  game's  up  with  young  Campbell,"  he  said, 
the  moment  the  door  was  closed.  "  He's  got  the 
whole  thing  through  his  head  and  proposes  to  go  it 
alone — or  at  least  independent  of  us — hereafter.  I 
don't  care  for  myself,  as  I  had  determined  to  quit 
anyhow,  but  the  boy  will  certainly  go  to  the  devil  if 
he  follows  the  ideas  which  he  has  got,  and  I  wish 
something  might  be  done  to  stop  him." 

Mr.  Mendall  received  this  intelligence  in  blank  dis- 
may. 

"  How  the  mischief  did  he  get  on  to  it  ?"  he  said, 
after  a  stupid  pause. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  he's  got  on,  sure.  The  worst 
thing  likely  to  happen  is,  that  with  his  juvenile  im- 
petuosity he  will  give  the  whole  thing  away  in  a 
short  time  and  make  trouble  for  you.  You'd  better 
see  him,  Jacob,  and  try  what  influence  you  have  on 
him.  I  think  you  might  scare  him  out.  But  you'd 
better  do  just  as  I  shall,  drop  the  business  from  now 
on.  You've  made  money  enough  and  so  far  you've 
been  safe." 

Mr.  Mendall's  cunning  face  did  not  brighten  much 
at  this  proposition. 

"  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up,  if  it  is  as  you  say,"  he 
said.  "  That  boy  is  a  perfect  mule,  and  if  he's  got  it 
into  his  head  that  he  can  get  along  without  us,  noth- 
ing will  turn  him." 

They  talked  for  half  an  hour  longer  upon  the  sub- 
ject, and  when  they  separated,  Mr.  Mendall  said,  "  I 
think  I  won't  go  near  him.  It  would  do  no  good. 
Cuss  the  luck  !  Whoever  thought  he  would  tumble 
on  to  it !" 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  11$ 

Greyburn  took  a  carriage  for  home,  and  Jacob 
Mendall  went  out  and  met  Walter  as  he  left  the  City 
Hall  for  his  two-o'clock  lunch.  In  the  same  room 
where  he  had  talked  with  Greyburn,  Mendall  set 
himself  to  convincing  Campbell  that  their  interests 
were  identical.  For  a  while  Walter  proved  obstinate, 
but  at  last  he  made  a  partial  concession  : 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  Jacob,  rather  than  have 
any  falling  out  with  you.  I'll  give  you  one-third  and 
keep  two-thirds  myself.  I  could  make  better  terms 
with  plenty  of  men  about  town,  but  there  may  be  an 
advantage  in  keeping  things  as  quiet  as  possible. 
You  must  not  forget  one  thing — I've  had  nothing  out 
of  all  that's  been  made  in  the  last  three  years.  It's 
my  turn  now  for  a  while." 

Mendall  assented  to  this  with  not  a  very  good  grace, 
and  both  rose  to  go. 

"  Don't  forget  the  dinner  Thursday  night,  probably 
the  last  we'll  get  at  Greyburn's,"  added  Walter.  "  I 
suppose  he  told  you  he  was  going  to  become  virtuous. 
Speak  to  any  of  the  fellows  you  see,  for  we  want  a 
nice  party." 

"  All  right  ;  good-day,"  said  Mendall,  graciously. 
But  he  felt  like  a  man  outwitted,  and  did  not  intend 
to  let  this  boy  beat  him  to  the  end  without  a  struggle. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THURSDAY  night  came  ;  that  Thursday  night  when 
the  final  dinner  given  by  Hector  Greyburn  to  his 
jolly  companions  was  to  be  celebrated  ;  that  Thurs- 
day night  which  was  to  witness  his  closing  hours  as 
a  man  of  the  world,  and  immediately  precede  his 
entering  upon  a  career  of  virtue  and  uprightness. 

Greyburn  stood  in  his  reception  room  and  welcomed 


Il6  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

the  guests  as  they  arrived.  He  bore  their  good- 
natured  railleries  as  a  host  should  do  ;  he  smiled  at 
each  sally  of  alleged  wit,  and  joined — mayhap  a  little 
absently — in  each  laugh  which  was  raised.  But  his 
mind  was  elsewhere.  He  played  his  part,  but  his 
heart  was  away  out  in  the  little  village  of  Springdale, 
where,  under  a  humble  cottage  roof,  reposed  the  one 
in  all  this  world  who  had  charm  for  him  now. 

All  were  finally  gathered  at  the  table.  The  dinner — 
never  better — was  disposed  of.  The  wines  and  cigars 
were  brought. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Greyburn,  when  it  became  time 
for  him  to  speak,  "  this  is  probably  the  last  time  we 
shall  ever  sit  at  dinner  together.  I  expect  to  sell  this 
house  and  move  away  from  New  York.  The  reasons 
which  actuate  me  are  known  to  some  of  you,  arid  / 
have  no  scruples  in  telling  them  to  the  others  who 
do  not  know.  For  almost  fourteen  years  I  have  lived 
what  is  called  a  life  of  pleasure.  It  has  lost  its  charms 
forme  within  the  past  two  weeks.  I  shall  retire  into 
the  country  and  devote  the  balance  of  my  days  to 
undoing  what  I  have  done  during  the  previous  part 
of  my  life." 

Walter  Campbell  burst  into  one  of  his  long  and 
irresistible  laughs.  The  rest  of  the  company  tried  to 
frown  him  down  at  first,  but  peal  followed  peal  until 
it  became  contagious,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  drol- 
lery of  the  affair  seemed  to  possess  all  present. 

"  I  beg  ten  million  pardons."  gasped  Walter,  with 
his  first  breath, "  but  it'sso  dreadfully  funny,  you  know. 
So  like  a  prayer  meeting.  It's  hard  to  believe  that 
he's  in  earnest.  I  expect  every  minute  to  have  him 
own  up  that  it's  all  a  sell  and  that  he's  only  been  play- 
ing a  trick  on  us.  The  idea  of  him  preaching !  The 
idea  of  it's  being  him  who  is  going  to  repent  and  be 
saved,  and  we  minor  sinners  who  are  left  to  destruc- 
tion !  It's  really  quite  too  comical  '" 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  1 1/ 

Greyburn's  brow  contracted  a  little.  Had  he  not 
been  playing  the  part  of  a  host  he  might  have  replied 
angrily.  The  occurrence  of  the  forgery  was  too 
recent  to  have  lost  much  of  its  insolence.  Things 
which  Greyburn  would  not  ordinarily  have  noticed 
grated  on  him  at  this  time. 

"  Mr.  Campbell  is  disposed  to  be  humorous,"  was 
all  he  said. 

"  But  there  is  an  odd  side  to  it,  you  know,"  put  in 
Mendall,  who  was  inclined,  for  business  reasons,  to 
keep  on  the  right  side  of  Walter. 

"  In  what  way  ?"  asked  Greyburn. 

"Why,  it's  a  love  disappointment,  of  course,  that's 
at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  Nothing  else  would  set  you 
so  agog.  Now  it  would  be  my  way,  in  a  case  like  that, 
to  let  the  matter  drop  and  try  elsewhere.  That  is,  if 
I  were  sure  I  could  not  succeed  in  the  first  place. 
This  going  to  the  dogs  for  one  woman,  more  or  less, 
is  not  what  I  should  expect  of  you,  Mr.  Greyburn." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  the  dogs,"  said  Greyburn,  a  little 
irritated.  "  I  shall  quit  '  going  to  the  dogs.'  That's 
the  difference." 

"  Depends  on  how  you  figure  it,  I  suppose,"  said 
Mr.  Middleby.  "  When  I  was  a  young  fellow  I  got 
into  a  faro  bank  one  evening  and  lost  all  I  had  ;  only 
a  few  hundred  dollars,  but  a  good  deal  to  me.  What 
did  I  do  ?  I  waited  until  I  got  another  hundred  and 
tried  it  again.  I  lost  that  too.  The  third  time  I  had 
a  change  of  luck  and  broke  the  bank,  coming  out  with 
fifteen  thousand  dollars  in  my  pocket.  Did  I  go  back 
to  faro  playing  after  that  ?  Not  I.  The  time  to  quit 
is  when  you've  won.  Now,  if  it  were  a  case  like  that 
which  Mendall  hints  at,  I  wouldn't  quit  until  I  had 
succeeded.  That's  the  true  policy.  Stop  when  your 
luck  is  at  the  full,  and  not  when  it  is  at  the  ebb, 
and  may  be  just  turning.  Luck  is  like  the  tides — it 
will  flow  both  ways,  only  give  it  time  enough." 


Il8  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

Walter  Campbell  nodded,  with  a  wise  air. 

"  He's  right,  Grey  burn.  'There  is  a  tide  in  the  af- 
fairs of  men,'  you  know.  But,  after  all,  you've  had 
your  share  of  life.  Why  should  you  go  on  absorbing- 
all  the  good  things  forever  ?  It's  better  that  you  step 
out  in  this  magnanimous  way  and  give  some  other 
poor  fellow  a  chance.  When  you  are  gone  the  field 
will  be  open,  and  we  can  all  try  for  the  prizes/' 

Greyburn  sipped  a  goblet  of  wine  and  did  not  look 
toward  his  voluble  and  over-free  guest.  He  really 
had  begun  to  hate  him. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  broke  in  Mr.  Clarence  Perkyns, 
"  this  is  dull  music.  We  are  not  here  to  criticise  our 
friend.  As  Bolton  would  say,  '  We  come  to  bury 
Caesar,  not  to  praise  him.'  However  we  may  feel  in 
our  minds  regarding  his  intentions,  it  is  not  the  part  of 
courtesy  to  air  our  opinions  here.  We  ought  rather 
to  make  a  jolly  ending  of  an  association  which  has 
been  so  pleasant  to  us  all.  This  good  wine  should  be 
supplemented  with  bright  sayings  and  good  stories." 

"Bravo!  Bravo!"  cried  several  guests  from  the 
lower  end  of  the  table. 

"  My  idea  exactly,"  chimed  in  Walter  Campbell. 
"  I  never  did  go  in  for  serious  things.  That  is  why 
Greyburn's  first  speech  this  evening  set  me  off  into  a 
roar.  I  know  him  so  well,  you  see.  He  could  tell  us 
the  tales,  if  he  would.  All  the  Decamerons  and  Hep- 
tamerons  together  would  not  parallel  his  adventures. 
He  ought  to  write  an  autobiography.  It  would  sell 
like  wildfire.  Do  it,  Greyburn  !  Put  in  places, 
names  and  everything.  Then  give  me  the  copyright, 
and,  by  the  memory  of  De  Montespan,  I'll  never  ask 
a  cent  while  I  live,  beyond  the  profits  of  it." 

The  room  rang  with  plaudits,  and  the  glasses  rang 
with  the  blows  showered  upon  them. 

"  No  doubt  I  could  write  some  interesting  things," 
said  Greyburn,  with  a  muffled  sneer  in  his  tone,  "  but 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  1 19 

perhaps  the  suits  for  libel  would  make  a  hole  in  the 
receipts.  Some  very  respectable  names  might  get 
tangled  into  the  narration." 

"  By  Gad  !"  cried  Walter,  "  there  ought  to  be  a  law 
against  libels  in  such  a  case.  Every  one  should  take 
his  own  risk  and  the  devil  the  rearmost,  say  I.  '  Let 
the  galled  jade  wince,'  you  know.  What  a  country 
this  is  !  There  are  laws  giving  a  man  the  right  to 
hunt  every  kind  of  game  during  certain  seasons,  ex- 
cept the  most  entrancing  of  all.  That  is  barred  the 
year  round.  It's  a  d — d  shame." 

The  speaker  dashed  a  glass  of  brandy  into  his 
throat  as  if  to  take  out  the  unpleasant  taste,  and 
Greyburn  felt  his  detestation  growing  stronger  than 
ever. 

"  I'm  still  of  my  opinion,"  said  Mr.  Middleby.  "  A 
man  ought  not  to  quit  anything  when  his  luck  is 
against  him.  It  must  turn.  '  Back  to  the  charge,'  is 
the  motto  to  be  followed.  But  perhaps  I  am  wrong, 
Mr.  Greyburn,  in  supposing  that  you  are  quitting 
under  such  circumstances." 

"  No,  you're  not  wrong,"  put  in  Walter,  before 
Greyburn  could  open  his  mouth  to  reply.  The 
brandy  was  telling  upon  his  tongue  as  usual.  "  He's 
told  me  all  about  it.  The  fact  is,  he  met  his  match 
during  his  last  visit  into  the  country.  It  broke  him 
all  up.  He  never'll  try  again.  He's  going  as  a  mis- 
sionary to  China  now.  All  the  money  he's  got  he'll 
put  in  the  conscience  fund.  By  Gad  !  if  I  had  a 
mind,  gentlemen 

"  Will  you  shut  up  !"  whispered  Jacob  Mendall  in 
his  ear.  "  Don't  you  see  you  are  going  too  far  ?" 

"  Why,  what  am  I  afraid  of  ?"  cried  Walter,  rising. 
"  Of  him  ?  Do  you  think  you  can  muzzle  me  ?  You'd 
better  have  a  care,  Jacob.  By  Gad,  I'll  let  you  out 
too,  the  next  thing  you  know." 

Everybody     looked   at    Greyburn,   who    forced    a 


120  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

cheerful  expression  through  the  dark  clouds  which 
had  gathered  upon  his  face. 

"  Please  be  seated  all,"  he  said,  noticing  that  nearly 
every  guest  was  upon  his  feet  in  anticipation  of  im- 
minent hostilities.  "Our  impetuous  young  friend 
doubtless  forgets  the  time  and  place." 

"  So  I  did,"  ejaculated  Walter,  pausing  a  moment  to 
catch  the  idea.  "And  you're  the  prince  of  fellows, 
Greyburn,  to  put  it  in  that  way.  I'm  a  fool,  and  only 
such  a  man  as  you  would  ever  have  got  along  with 
me.  Gentlemen,  I  drink  his  health." 

The  health  was  drunk  in  silence.  The  proceedings 
had  not  added  to  the  festivities  of  the  evening.  To 
Greyburn  the  apology  was,  if  anything,  more  dis- 
agreeable than  the  affront.  The  familiar  air  with 
which  the  young  man  treated  him  had  become  par- 
ticularly distasteful.  Still  he  sacrificed  everything  to 
his  duty  as  a  host,  inwardly  thankful  that  this  could 
never  occur  again. 

"  But  do  you  really  intend  to  live  'a  life  of  perfect 
virtue  ?'  "  queried  Middleby,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  do,"  said  Greyburn,  soberly. 

"  And — pardon  me — is  this  at  the  end  of  a  career 
during  which  you  have  never  been  disappointed  in 
achieving  the  woman  you  sought  ?  I  don't  wish  to  be 
too  personal,  but  you  know  there  are  privileges  which 
we  always  take  with  each  other  around  this  board." 

"  I  never  attempted  to  win  any  woman  from  virtue 
and  failed,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,"  replied  Grey- 
burn.  "Mr.  Campbell  seems  to  have  misunderstood 
me,  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  am  the  one  now  asked 
the  question  and  I  have  answered  it." 

The  whole  tenor  of  the  conversation  disturbed  him, 
and  he  longed  for  the  hour  when  his  guests  would 
depart. 

"  You  have  offered  a  wager,  often,  we  all  know," 
put  in  Mendall,  who  had  recovered  his  serenity  since 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  121 

Campbell  had  relapsed  into  silence,  "  that  we  could 
not  name  a  woman  whom  you  could  not  win." 

"  Time  and  again,"  said  Greyburn,  wearily.  "  In 
any  sum  you  pleased." 

"  Has  that  offer  ever  been  withdrawn  ?"  asked 
Middleby,  cautiously. 

"  Withdrawn  !"  echoed  Greyburn,  a  little  of  the  old 
light  coming  into  his  eyes.  "Withdrawn?  It  were 
not  well  hinted,  Mr.  Middleby,  that  Hector  Greyburn 
made  offers  and  then  withdrew  them.  No,  the  offer 
has  always  stood,  these  eight  years  past.  Why  did 
you  ask  if  it  were  ever  withdrawn  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Mr.  Middleby,  slowly,  and  weigh- 
ing each  word  as  he  spoke,  "  because  I  wish  to  take  it 
up." 

"  You  jest  !"  cried  Greyburn.  "  In  another  hour  all 
such  thoughts  are  to  be  banished  from  me.  You  are 
not  serious." 

"  He  has  taken  your  offer,  Greyburn,"  put  in  Men- 
dall,  "and  is  entitled  to  fair  usage.  If  you  decline  to 
accept,  there  is  no  law  to  compel  you,  but  it  is  not 
like  you  to  do  a  thing  of  that  sort.  Mr.  Middleby 
states  that  he  is  ready.  I  really  do  not  see  how  you 
can  escape." 

Greyburn  looked  at  Mendall  sharply.  He  then 
glanced  up  and  down  the  lines  of  men  at  his  table, 
and  saw  that  all  held  the  same  opinion.  "At  the 
worst,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "it  is  only  to  lose  a 
little  money.  Probably  the  sum  to  be  wagered  will 
not  be  large." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  haughtily,  as  Mendall  finished,  "  I 
don't  wish  to  escape.  I  thought  it  odd  to  propose  a 
thing  like  this  an  hour  before  the  time  when  you  knew 
I  had  decided  to  change  the  whole  course  of  my  life. 
There  are  strong  reasons,  which  I  cannot  explain, 
why  I  object  to  altering  my  plans,  but  my  last  act 


122  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

with  you  shall  not  be  a  craven  one.  Prepare  your 
papers.  In  what  sum  do  you  wish  the  wager  made  ?" 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars,"  said  Mr.  Middleby. 

Greyburn  was  visibly  startled  at  the  figure.  He 
saw  in  an  instant  that  more  than  the  broker  were  in 
the  affair,  and  the  blood  began  to  rise  to  his  brain. 
It  was  a  plot,  then,  was  it,  to  fleece  him  out  of  a  large 
sum  of  money  while  sitting  at  his  table  and  enjoying 
his  hospitality  ?  His  resolutions,  his  love,  his  inten- 
tions for  the  morrow,  vanished  with  the  rapidity  of 
thought.  The  Greyburn  of  the  last  few  days  was 
gone.  The  Greyburn  of  the  ten  preceding  years  had 
returned.  He  turned  to  Mr.  Middleby  with  an  air 
that  was  almost  gay. 

"  I  accept  your  proposal,  sir,  and  will  take  care  that 
you  never  see  your  money  again.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  I  shall  be  obliged,  however,  to  ask  your  indul- 
gence for  a  couple  of  days,  as  I  have  not  the  sum  you 
mention  in  bank.  It  will,  in  fact,  compel  me  to  part 
with  some  of  my  real  estate,  as  my  method  of  living 
has  never  allowed  me  to  accumulate  a  large  fortune. 
I  do  not  speak  of  this  with  regret,  as  I  intend  to  sell 
everything  I  own  in  New  York  within  a  short  time. 
If  you  desire,  I  will  put  up  five  thousand  dollars  in 
city  bonds  to-night  as  a  pledge  of  the  rest.  I  assure 
you  I  am  only  too  desirous  to  complete  the  wager." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Middleby,  "  but  I  had  ar- 
ranged to  start  to-morrow  for  a  six-months'  trip  to 
Europe.  Unless  the  matter  can  be  arranged  to-night, 
I  do  not  see  what  I  can  do  about  it." 

Greyburn  thought  he  saw  in  these  words  an  inten- 
tion of  withdrawal,  and  became  more  and  more  deter- 
mined to  revenge  himself  on  those  who  had  tried  to 
take  this  large  sum  from  him. 

"  When  did  you  decide  upon  this  European  trip  ?" 
he  inquired,  with  a  touch  of  irony  in  his  tone," 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  123 

"  More  than  a  week  ago,"  replied  Middleby.  "  Do 
you  doubt  me  ?  Here,  I  will  show  you  the  tickets." 

"  No,  no  !"  interposed  Greyburn,  refusing  to  ex- 
amine them.  "  Of  course  I  believe  you.  We  are  all 
of  good  intent,  but  what  can  we  do  ?" 

"What  is  this  house  worth  ?"  inquired  Mendall,  as 
if  the  matter  had  just  occurred  to  him. 

"  I  suppose  about  thirty  thousand  dollars,"  said 
Greyburn.  "  Why  ?" 

"  And  the  contents  ?" 

"You  mean  the  furniture,"  cried  Walter  Campbell. 
"  You  forget  Gabrielle.  She  is  part  of  the  contents. 
Don't  include  her.  I  want  a  chance  to  bid  on  that 
article,  myself." 

"  Perhaps  ten  thousand  dollars  more,"  said  Grey- 
burn,  paying  no  attention  to  this  interpolation. 
"  That  is,  they  cost  me  that.  They  wouldn't  bring 
so  much,  now,  probably." 

"  If  you  would  take  thirty-five  thousand  dollars  for 
the  whole,"  said  Mendall,  "  I  will  send  out  for  a  con- 
veyancer and  you  can  transfer  them  to  me  at  once 
for  cash.  That  would  enable  you  to  close  the  wager 
to-night.  I  don't  see  any  other  way." 

Greyburn  looked  around  the  room,  and  his  thoughts 
traveled  rapidly  over  the  house.  It  had  been  his 
home  so  long.  Hours  he  had  then  esteemed  the 
brightest  of  his  life,  he  had  passed  there.  As  he  saw 
them  going  from  him,  the  walls  took  on  a  new  beauty. 
Then  he  looked  again  at  Middleby,  at  Mendall  and  at 
Campbell.  There  was  no  escape.  They  had  hedged 
him  in. 

"  Call  your  conveyancer,"  he  said.  "  Excuse  me 
till  he  comes."  And  he  left  the  room. 

The  wager  became  the  subject  of  conversation 
among  the  little  knots  which  gathered  in  corners,  the 
table  being  abandoned  by  everybody.  "  Middleby's 
a  fool."  "  No,  he  isn't,  he  knows  what  he's  about," 


124  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

"  Greyburn  will  win,"  and  similar  remarks  were  heard 
in  all  directions. 

Jacob  Mendall  took  Walter  Campbell  by  the  arm 
and  led  him  to  a  window  opening  upon  a  balcony. 
They  stepped  outside. 

"In  half  an  hour,"  said  the  older  man,  "these 
premises  will  be  mine." 

"  What's  that  to  me  ?"  cried  Walter,  impetuously. 
"You  know  it  has  been  the  desire  of  my  heart  to  own 
this  place  myself.  It  is  just  what  I  want.  Just  the 
cage  for  the  birds  I  mean  to  have,  and  half  full  now 
of  the  sweetest  ones  imaginable.  The  place  is  of  no 
use  to  you,  while  to  me  it  would  be  worth  everything." 

"Would  you  really  care  so  much  for  it?"  said  Men- 
dall, with  affected  surprise.  "  Well,  that's  easily  ar- 
ranged. Only  use  me  fair  in  the  business  we  are  in 
and  I  will  make  this  crib  over  to  you  the  first  minute 
you  get  the  money  to  take  it." 

"  Will  you?"  cried  Walter,  in  ecstacy. 

"  To  be  sure.  I'll  even  do  more  than  that.  I'll  in- 
stall you  at  once  as  a  free  tenant  until  you  are  able  to 
buy  it,  or  as  long  as  our  relations  are  amicable.  I 
only  took  the  house  to  help  Greyburn  out  of  his  diffi- 
culty. I  don't  want  it  for  myself,  and  if  you  "do,  it's 
the  best  thing  in  the  world  that  I've  got  hold  of  it." 

Vowing  that  Mendall  should  never  lose  anything  by 
his  kindness,  Walter  proceeded  with  him  to  the 
library,  where  a  well-known  real  estate  lawyer  was 
examining  a  lot  of  old  deeds  and  papers. 

"Everything  seems  to  be  all  right  here,"  he  said, 
as  Mendall  entered.  "  Mr.  Greyburn  gets  his  deed 
from  old  Marples,  whose  titles  were  perfection  itself. 
I  can't  say,  of  course,  whether  there  have  been  any 
mortgages  or  attachments  on  the  premises  since  Mr. 
Greyburn  bought  them,  but  otherwise  they  are  all 
sound  and  right." 

"  Oh?    I'll   risk   the    mortgages,"    smiled    Mendall. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT,  125 

"  Mr.  Greyburn  is  too  honorable  a  man  to  leave  any 
doubt  on  that  score."  Then,  turning  to  Middleby,  he 
whispered,  "  I  had  it  looked  up  to-day." 

The  deed  of  the  real  estate  and  a  bill  of  sale  of  the 
furnishings  were  signed  and  witnessed,  and  Mr.  Men- 
dall  paid  over  his  check  for  them  as  agreed.  This 
being  done,  the  conveyancer  withdrew. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Middleby,  "  for  the  referee, 
and  the  writings.  Have  you  any  choice  for  referee, 
Mr.  Greyburn  ?" 

"  Mr.  Perkyns  will  be  agreeable  to  me,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  The  very  name  I  should  have  proposed,"  said 
Middleby,  not  a  little  vexed,  nevertheless,  that  he 
could  not  find  an  excuse  to  change  the  name  to  that 
of  Jacob  Mendall,  whom  he  had  supposed  would  of 
course  be  selected.  "  Mr.  Perkyns,  will  you  please 
take  these  writing  materials  and  draw  up  the  docu- 
ment ?" 

Mr.  Perkyns  had  done  this  sort  of  thing  before, 
and  proceeded  to  his  task  without  hesitation. 

"  Let  us  understand  everything  before  I  begin  to 
write,"  said  he.  "  The  wager  is  to  be  for  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  a  side." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Middleby. 

"  And  that  sum  from  each  of  you  is  to  be  put  into 
my  hands,  the  joint  amount  to  be  paid  by  me  to 
whichever  I  shall  decide  is  entitled  to  it  under  the 
terms  of  the  contract." 

"  Exactly." 

"The  wager  really  runs  from  you,  Mr.  Middleby, 
as  you  are  placed  in  the  position  of  betting  that  Mr. 
Greyburn  cannot  win  over  a  certain  woman  whom 
you  will  name,  within  a  given  length  of  time.  Now, 
what  shall  be  the  time  allowed  ?  That  is  very  import- 
ant." 

Mr.  Middleby  hesitated  to  reply.     Greyburn  hesi- 


126  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

tated  also.  The  referee  turned  to  the  assembled 
guests. 

"  What  do  you  say,  gentlemen  ?  What  would  be  a 
fair  time  ?" 

"  Half  an  hour  ?"  ventured  Walter  Campbell. 

Everybody  laughed. 

"  Shall  we  call  it  a  year  ?"  said  Mr.  Perkyns. 

"  A  year  ?"  cried  Walter.  "  To  win  over  one 
woman  !  How  long  was  the  Son  of  the  Morning, 
when  he  drew  after  him  the  seventh  part  of  the  chil- 
dren of  light  ?  No  woman  who  lives  could  withstand 
Hector  Greyburn  a  year.  Give  Middleby  some 
chance." 

"Mr.  Middleby  is  to  stay  in  Europe  six  months," 
suggested  Greyburn,  impatient  at  Walter's  interrup- 
tions. "  Let  that  be  the  time.  Then,  when  he  re- 
turns, he  can  call  for  the  amount  in  your  hands — that 
is,  if  he  wins  it." 

The  sarcasm  in  the  last  few  words  decided  Mr. 
Middleby,  who  said  that  six  months  would  suit  him 
very  well  if  it  was  satisfactory  to  his  opponent. 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  more,  then,"  said  the 
referee,  "  and  that  is — the  proof." 

"  The  proof  ?"  repeated  Greyburn. 

"  Precisely." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Why,  how  am  I  to  be  satisfied  at  the  end  of  the 
six  months  who  has  won  the  bet  ?  How  shall  I  know 
to  whom  to  pay  this  money  ?" 

"  I  supposed,"  Greyburn  replied,  haughtily,  "  that 
my  word  would  answer  for  that." 

"  Well,  hardly,"  replied  Mr.  Perkyns,  while  Mid- 
dleby and  Mendall  shook  their  heads  decidedly. 

"  Quite  out  of  the  question,"  said  Mendall. 

"  What  is  it  to  you  ?"  said  Greyburn,  rather  warmly. 
"  It's  not  your  bet.  Mr.  Middleby  won't  say,  I'll 
venture,  that  he'll  dispute  my  word," 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  I2/ 

"  But  this  is  not  the  way  bets  are  decided,"  inter- 
posed the  referee.  "There  must  be  some  proof, 
outside  of  the  word  of  either  of  the  parties  interested, 
be  they  ever  so  honorable.  Mine  will  be  a  delicate 
position.  There  will  be  no  appeal  from  my  decision. 
It  is  most  important,  therefore,  that  the  proof  shall  be 
complete.  You  gentlemen  must  agree  on  that  point, 
as  I  do  not  care  to  decide  it  for  you,  possibly  to  your 
subsequent  dissatisfaction." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Mr.  Middleby  ventured 
"  If  the  referee  is  satisfied  that  the  parties  have  passed 
the  night  together  in  the  same  chamber  with  the 
consent  of  the  lady,  that  will  satisfy  me.  I  realize 
the  unreasonableness  of  asking  for  more." 

"  Will  that  suit  Mr.  Greyburn  ?"  asked  Perkyns. 

Greyburn  thought  a  moment  and  then  said,  "  Yes." 

Mr.  Perkyns  took  his  pen,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
produced  the  following  : 

"  The  undersigned,  residents  of  the  city  and  county 
of  New  York,  do  each  deposit  with  Clarence  Perkyns, 
Esq.,  the  sum  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  upon  the  fol- 
lowing conditions  : 

"  If,  on  or  before  the  sixth  day  of  January,  18— ,  at 
twelve  o'clock,  noon,  the  undersigned,  Hector  Grey- 
burn,  shall  satisfy  the  said  Perkyns  that  he,  the  said 
Greyburn,  has  occupied  during  one  night  the  same 

chamber  with ,  by  the  free  and  full  consent  of  the 

said ,  then  the  said  Perkyns  shall  pay  to  the  said 

Greyburn  the  joint  sums  so  deposited  with  him,  viz.: 
the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  In  case 
the  said  Greyburn  shall  not  so  satisfy  the  said  Perkyns, 
then  the  said  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
shall  be  paid  to  the  undersigned,  Otis  W.  Middleby. 

"  To  all  these  stipulations  the  undersigned  set  their 
hands  and  seals,  and  also  agree  that  the  decision  of 
the  said  Perkyns  in  the  matter  described  shall  be 


128  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

final,  and  that  this  shall  be  his  release  from  all  claims 
whatsoever  arising  out  of  his  actions  in  the  premises." 

"  Is  that  satisfactory  ?"  asked  Mr.  Perkyns. 

Both  gentlemen  assented  and  signed  their  names. 

"  Now,  when  you  have  placed  the  money  in  my 
hands,"  he  continued,  "  I  will  insert  the  name  which 
Mr.  Middleby  will  give  me.  But  first,  for  the  wit- 
nesses." 

"  Mr.  Mendall  can  witness  for  me  if  he  pleases," 
said  Middleby. 

"  And  Mr.  Campbell  ?"  asked  Mr.  Perkyns,  turning 
to  Greyburn. 

"  No,  not  he  !"  cried  Middleby,  almost  with  a 
scream. 

"  Why  not?"  said  Walter,  turning  black  in  the  face. 
"  Why  not,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Let  him  sign  !"  whispered  Mendall  in  Middleby's 
ear.  "  What  are  you  thinking  of  to  interrupt  like 
that  !  You'll  spoil  all." 

"  I  consent,"  said  Mr.  Middleby,  paling  under  the 
fire  of  the  eyes  which  were  turned  on  him. 

"  I  will  pay  you  for  this,"  said  Campbell,  as  he 
finished  writing  his  name.  "  There  will  be  a  place 
where  I  can  do  so,  if  not  here.  My  blood  is  not  the 
kind  which  allows  insult  heaped  upon  it.  I  will  see 
you  elsewhere,  Mr.  Otis  Middleby." 

The  broker  did  not  reply,  though  he  was  visibly 
disturbed.  Mendall  tried  in  vain  to  rally  him,  but  he 
grew  no  better,  and  presently  muttering  that  he  was 
a  trifle  faint,  he  walked  to  one  of  the  open  windows. 
In  a  moment  he  was  recalled  by  the  voice  of  the 
referee  asking  for  the  name  of  the  lady  with  which  to 
fill  the  vacancy. 

Middleby's  hand  shook  like  an  aspen  when  he  drew 
the  name  from  his  pocket,  written  on  a  piece  of  white 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  I2Q 

cardboard.  He  looked  at  Mendall  for  help,  and  that 
gentleman  said  : 

"  Of  course  the  name  must  be  known  only  to  the 
parties  in  interest.  That  is  reasonable.  I  would 
suggest  that  even  the  referee  had  better  not  know  it 
at  present.  Let  Mr.  Middleby  write  it  in  the  blank 
space  and  show  it  to  Mr.  Greyburn.  Then  Mr.  Perkyns 
can  seal  it  up  without  inspecting  it  and  will  not  need 
to  examine  the  document  until  one  party  calls  on  him 
to  claim  a  forfeit." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  said  Perkyns.  "  I  have  no  curi- 
osity in  the  matter,  and,  in  fact,  would  rather  not 
know  who  the  lady  is.  What  say  you,  Mr.  Greyburn  ?" 

Greyburn  would  have  objected  to  the  plan  had  any 
ground  for  so  doing  presented  itself,  merely  because 
Mendall  proposed  it.  Within  the  last  two  hours  he 
had  learned  to  hate  him  as  well  as  the  rest  of  them. 
It  seemed  incredible  that  he  could  ever  have  liked  the 
society  of  such  creatures.  He  consented  to  Mendall's 
proposition. 

Middleby  took  a  pen  and  went  across  the  room  to 
put  the  document  on  another  table.  It  was  only  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  could  hold  his  hand 
steady  enough  to  write.  After  a  little,  however,  he 
inserted  the  name,  and  leaving  it  there  for  Greyburn 
to  see,  crossed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 

Greyburn  sauntered  carelessly  to  where  the  docu- 
ment lay.  He  had  little  curiosity  about  the  name. 
What  did  it  matter  to  him  what  particular  form  of 
combined  consonants  and  vowels  might  be  there 
written  out.  But  when  he  glanced  at  the  writing,  he 
turned  whiter  than  the  marble  on  which  it  rested. 
For  an  instant  lights  danced  before  his  eyes  and  he 
respired  with  difficulty.  He  grasped  the  paper  in 
one  hand,  closing  his  fingers  upon  it  with  a  dim  idea 
that  he  could  hold  his  secret  from  the  rest  if  he  be- 
came unconscious.  It  was  but  an  instant,  however. 


!30  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

In  a  second  more  he  recovered  and  turned  to  his 
guests,  most  of  whom  had  been  astonished  witnesses 
of  his  emotion. 

"  I  have  signed,"  he  said,  huskily,  "  and  I  shall  win 
the  wager.  Good-night,  gentlemen." 

Slowly  the  guests  departed. 

The  name  on  the  paper  was,  "  CLARA  CAMP- 
BELL." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  WEEK  after  the  events  narrated  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter  Walter  Campbell  was  sole  master  of 
Hector  Greyburn's  late  city  residence.  The  property 
stood  on  the  books  of  the  registry  of  deeds  in  the 
name  of  Mr.  Jacob  Mendall,  but  that  honest  gentle- 
man had  installed  Walter  upon  the  premises  in  the 
character  of  lessee,  and  had  also  furnished  him  with  a 
reasonable,  and  even  liberal  allowance  of  pocket  money 
with  which  to  support  his  new  dignity.  Mr.  Mendall 
was  at  first  well  satisfied  with  the  course  affairs  were 
taking.  The  potent  springs  under  whose  touch  gold 
had  been  wont  to  flow  so  plentifully  were  now  in  his 
hands.  Walter  had  been  only  too  willing  to  ex- 
change the  information  which  he  possessed  for  the 
pottage  of  a  temporary  lease  of  the  house  and  the 
sum  requisite  to  keep  it  up.  There  was  a  sort  of  un- 
derstanding that  the  profits  were  to  be  equitably  di- 
vided in  the  end,  but  Mendall  determined  to  put  the 
day  of  reckoning  far  off  into  the  future.  As  long  as 
he  could  keep  Walter  amused  with  baubles  and 
trinkets  the  young  man  would  not  be  likely  to  make 
trouble. 

The  wager  with  Greyburn  added  also  to  his  satis- 
faction. As  has  doubtless  been,  suspected,  Mendall 
had  the  heaviest  share  in  the  venture  of  which  Mr. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  131 

Middleby  was  apparently  the  sole  owner.  By  an  ac- 
cidental meeting  with  the  landlord  of  the  Spring-dale 
House,  who  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  his,  Mendall 
had  learned  that  Greyburn  had  visited  Miss  Campbell, 
and  had  left  the  village  in  the  deepest  despond- 
ency. Further  investigation  into  the  young  lady's 
character  convinced  him  that  here  lay  the  opportu- 
nity which  he  had  long  sought  to  make  a  wager  with 
Greyburn.  Not  liking  to  have  it  appear  that  he  was 
seeking  to  make  money  out  of  his  quondam  partner, 
Mendall  made  use  of  Middleby  as  a  cat  to  save  his 
chestnuts  from  burning.  The  crafty  banker  believed 
that  he  had  made  sure  of  his  wager.  That  Clara  was 
of  a  high  order  of  purity  he  had  made  sure  by  the 
testimony  of  several  persons  who  had  known  her 
from  infancy.  Then,  she  was  Walter's  sister  ;  Walter, 
the  impetuous,  whose  fiery  temper  would  stand  as  a 
menace  to  Greyburn,  he  knowing  well  that  in  case  of 
harm  happening  to  the  sister,  the  brother  would  more 
than  likely  require  his  life  in  answer.  Besides  this, 
Mendall  was  convinced  that  Greyburn  was  sincere  in 
his  intention  to  leave  all  his  old  habits  and  associa- 
tions. Fourteen  years  of  acquaintance  with  him  had 
convinced  the  banker  that  his  word  was  to  be  relied 
upon.  There  seemed  every  reason  to  believe  that 
even  for  the  sum  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  Hector 
Greyburn  would  not  turn  back  from  any  path  upon 
which  he  had  determined  to  enter. 

Of  the  half-dozen  fair  creatures  whom  Walter  found 
in  the  house,  only  one  of  them — Gabrielle — could  be 
persuaded  to  remain  after  he  took  possession.  This 
gushing  young  creature  seemed  to  transfer  her  affec- 
tions from  Greyburn  to  Campbell  as  easily  as  Grey- 
burn  transferred  the  real  estate  to  Mendall. 

"  You  loved  Hector  yesterday,"  said  Walter,  with  a 
look  of  mock  reproachfulness. 

"Ah,  yes  !"  sighed  Gabrielle,  winding  her  fair  arms 


132  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

around  his  neck,  "  but  that  was  so  long  ago  !  i  love 
you  now — you  and  you  alone." 

And  he  believed  her. 

In  some  respects  Gabrielle  was  pleased  at  the 
change.  Walter  was  more  easily  managed  than 
Hector.  Almost  every  hour,  when  not  compelled  to 
be  at  his  desk  at  City  Hall,  he  was  by  her  side.  He 
came  home  at  four  every  day.  Generally  they  went 
for  a  ride  in  the  Park.  Evenings  were  often  spent  at 
the  theatre,  followed  by  supper  at  Delmonico's  or  in 
their  own  cosy  apartments. 

Hector  had  been  a  cold  lover  of  late.  Walter  was 
devotion  itself.  As  for  the  rest,  Gabrielle  was  not  of 
a  nature  to  mind  the  difference. 

"  I  would  be  quite  content  now,"  said  Walter  to 
Mendall,  "  but  for  the  slavery  of  six  hours  a  day  at 
that  miserable  desk.  I  wonder  if  we  could  not  find 
the  right  sort  of  a  man  to  put  there  and  relieve  me." 

"  Impossible  !"  was  Kendall's  very  positive  re- 
joinder. "  There  is  a  thorn  to  every  rose,  my  boy, 
arid  this  is  yours.  If  we  were  to  put  some  one  else 
there — provided  we  succeeded  in  doing:  it,  which  is  not 
certain — we  should  run  the  risk  of  wrong  information 
and  perhaps  get  ruined  in  one  operation.  Or,  again, 
our  clerk  might  get  a  notion  into  his  head  that  he 
could  run  the  business  on  his  own  hook — as  another 
one  did — and  I  should  have  to  get  him  a  house  and 
sweetheart.  So  we  might  go  on,  with  never  a  rest. 
No,  my  dear  boy,  you  must  bear  the  few  hours  of 
treadmill  and  trust  to  Gabrielle's  smiles  to  repay  you 
when  you  reach  home." 

Gabrielle's  smiles  were  all  right,  but  they  began 
before  long  to  cost  Mendall  a  good  deal  of  money. 
She  developed  a  penchant  for  diamonds  and  other 
jewels,  which  kept  Walter  busy  calling  upon  his 
patron  for  funds.  Walter  would  not  have  questioned 
her  right  to  the  Koh-i-nor,  had  she  demanded  it,  but 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  133 

Mendall  felt  obliged  to  protest.  This  led  to  some 
scenes,  Walter  declaring  that  he  would  have  more 
money  or  dissolve  the  partnership,  and  Mendall  ex- 
postulating, only  to  make  a  whole  or  partial  conces- 
sion at  last.  Gabrielle  put  out  her  lily-white  hand  for 
all  the  money  she  could  get  Walter  to  give  her,  and  it 
disappeared  with  magic  swiftness. 

"  My  angel,"  he  would  say,  "  where  is  the  thou- 
sand dollars  which  I  gave  you  last  week  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  pet,"  she  would  respond.  "Only 
I'm  sure  it's  all  gone.  I  can't  spend  the  same  money 
twice,  you  know." 

And  Jacob  would  have  to  find  another  thousand, 
which  would  go  as  rapidly  as  the  first. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  banker  himself  began  to 
fall  under  the  witching  powers  of  the  fair  girl.  Under 
the  pretense  of  business,  he  got  to  calling  upon  her 
in  the  morning  after  Walter  left  the  house,  and  soon 
found  it  hard  to  leave  much  before  it  was  time  for  the 
young  man  to  return  in  the  afternoon.  Williams, 
the  observant  colored  man  who  officiated  as  steward- 
of-the-household,  remarked  that  the  same  lovely  crea- 
ture who  tripped  to  the  hall  door  at  nine  o'clock  in 
her  white  breakfast  wrapper  and  showered  her  pas- 
sionate kisses  on  the  lips  of  her  younger  lover,  met 
the  elder  one  half-an-hour  later  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  and  permitted  him,  not  unwillingly^  to  touch 
her  soft  cheek  with  his  bearded  mouth.  It  was  not 
the  steward's  business,  and  he  was  wisely  content 
to  notice  but  not  comment. 

There  was  soon  a  very  good  understanding  between 
Gabriel  and  Mendall.  She  knew  that  he  was  the 
source  from  whence  the  money  came,  and  deemed  it 
best  to  be  on  the  right  side  in  case  there  should  ever 
be  a  crash. 

One  day  when  they  sat  tete-a-tete  in  Gabrielle's 
boudoir,  Williams  knocked  at  the  door. 


134  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"There's  a  man  down  below,"  he  said,  as  she  re- 
sponded, "  who  is  determined  to  see  Mr.  Greyburn, 
whom  he  will  not  believe  has  left  here.  What  can  I 
do  about  it  ?  I  don't  like  to  call  a  policeman,  as  he 
looks  honest  enough." 

"  What  kind  of  man  ?" 

"  Well,  a  rough  fellow,  a  laborer  or  something  of 
that  sort.  He  won't  do  any  harm,  but  he  is  set  on 
staying  until  he  can  see  Mr.  Greyburn,  and  all  I  can 
say  won't  move  him." 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Gabrielle,  and  like  a  bird  she  flew 
down  the  steps  to  where  the  man  stood  waiting. 

"  You  wish  to  see  Mr.  Greyburn  ?"  she  asked,  eying 
the  man  with  interest. 

"Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  "an*  I  sha'n't  leave  till  I 
do  see  him."  This  was  spoken  earnesly,  but  with 
perfect  politeness  of  manner. 

"But  he  has  left  here." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  visitor.     "  I  must  see  him." 

"You  look  like  a  sane  man,"  said  Gabrielle,  "and 
should  exercise  reason.  Mr.  Greyburn  has  sold  this 
house  and  removed  from  the  city.  Where  he  has  gone 
I  do  not  know.  If  you  doubt  me  you  can  go  to  Mr. 
Brown,  the  grocer,  or  Mr.  Jones,  the  provision  dealer, 
whx>  used  to  supply  him  with  goods,  and  they  will  tell 
you  the  same  thing." 

The  man  colored  a  bit. 

"  Excuse  me  ag'in,  he  said,  "  if  I  doubt  ye.  I  know 
Mr.  Greyburn.  I  know  he  lives  here.  I  know  yer 
face,  too  ;  I've  seen  ye  out  ridin'  together." 

"  But  not  for  several  months,"  said  the  girl,  nowise 
abashed.  "  Not  since  last  June." 

"  My  name's  John  Diusmore,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Mr.  Greyburn  has  seen  me  afore.  I've  only  a  few 
words  to  say  to  him.  I'm  not  an  eddicated  man — not 
a  polished  one — I  don't  claim  to  be  what  they  call  a 
gentleman.  Fer  all  that,  I  know  there's  respect  due 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  133 

to  a  woman,  an'  I'm  tryin'  to  show  that  respect  to 
you.  But  I  can  tell  ye,  if  ye'll  let  me,  why  I'm  sure 
that  Mr.  Greyburn  hasn't  moved  from  this  house." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Gabriel. 

"  Because  you're  here." 

"  That  is  a  strange  reason,"  said  Gabrielle.  "  I 
was  not  his  servant." 

"  No,"  said  Dinsmore,  looking  her  full  in  the  eye, 
"  you  are  his — I  beg  pardon — at  least,  if  he'd  gone 
ye'd  'a'  gone  with  him." 

"Are  you  ready  to  go  now?"  said  Gabrielle,  smil- 
ingly. 

"  Not  till  I've  seen  the  man  I  asked  fer." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  said  the  fair  creature,  with 
a  laugh  like  the  trill  of  a  robin,  "  if  you  are  deter- 
mined to  stay,  please  step  upstairs  and  make  your- 
self at  home.  William  !  Open  the  shutters  in  the 
parlor,  please."  She  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  Tell 
Mr.  Mendall  to  wait  in  the  boudoir,  and  if  he  hears 
any  disturbance  to  come  to  my  rescue."  Then, 
laughing  all  the  way,  she  led  Dinsmore  to  the  parlor 
and  offered  him  a  chair. 

"  You  are  a  curious  man,"  she  said,  as  he  refused 
to  take  it.  "  Can't  you  accept  the  word  of  a  lady,  or 
would  you  rather  search  the  house  ?  1  tell  you  again, 
Mr.  Greyburn  has  sold  this  place  and  gone  away." 

"  If  he's  gone,"  said  the  blacksmith,  measuring  his 
words  slowly,  "  why  do  ye  remain  ?  If  he's  sold  this 
house,  why  are  ye  in  it  ?  Surely  you  were  his  — 

"  Sweetheart  ?"  suggested  Gabrielle,  as  he  seemed 
to  pause. 

"Yes.     He  was  your  lover.     Isn't  it  so?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  girl.  "  He  was  my  lover,  as 
you  say.  But  that  was  two  months  ago.  He  is  gone 
now,  and  it  is  unlikely  that  I  shall  ever  see  him 
again." 

She  smiled  and  showed  her  pearly  teeth. 


136  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  Is  that  the  way  city  folks  love  ?"  said  Dinsmore, 
rather  to  himself  than  to  her.  "  If  you  stick  to  it 
that  he  isn't  here,  I  must  go.  But  let  me  leave  a 
message  for  him,  and  it's  this  :  '  If  he  harms  a  hair 
o'  Clara  Campbell's  head  I'll  kill  him  the  first  time 
we  meet  as  I  would  a  wolf  !'  " 

The  man's  voice  was  not  raised  above  his  usual 
tone  nor  was  he  unduly  excited.  But  he  seemed  very 
much  in  earnest,  and  she  had  no  doubt  that  he  meant 
every  word  he  said. 

"Who  is  this  Clara  Campbell  ?"  inquired  Gabrielle, 
with  suddenly  aroused  interest. 

"  He  knows,"  said  Dinsmore,  doggedly.  An'  he 
knows  her  brother  Walter.  One  he's  ruined,  or  will 
ruin,  but  he  sha'n't  touch  the  other.  If  he  does,  God 
witness  fer  me,  it'll  be  his  death  !" 

"  How  do  you  know  these  people  ?"  asked  the  girl, 
"  and  what  is  your  interest  in  them  ?" 

"  How  do  I  know  'em,  miss  ?  Why,  ever  sence 
they  was  little  bits  o'  babies  I've  knowed  'em.  I've 
seen  'em  grow  up,  hansum  an'  strong.  I've  seen 
Walter  start  off  to  York  with  the  bloom  o'  innocence 
on  his  cheek.  I've  seen  him  sence  with  the  flush  o' 
liquor  on  him,  reelin'  into  a  carriage  at  midnight. 
I've  seen  Clara  go  her  way  singin'  to  her  school,  loved 
by  every  child  an' every  man  an'  woman  in  Spring- 
dale.  I've  seen  this  Greyburn  there,  bewitchin'  her 
with  his  di'monds,  horses  an'  fine  clothes,  an'  his 
smooth  tongue.  Her  father  died  long  ago.  Her 
mother  sleeps  beside  him  in  the  little  churchyard. 
Who  is  thar  to  look  arter  her,  miss  ?  I  owe  it  to  the 
DEAD  to  see  that  no  harm  comes  to  her,  an'  I  mean 
to  do  it." 

Gabrielle  could  not  help  being  affected  by  the  sad- 
ness of  the  speaker's  manner. 

"  Do  you  think  this  girl  is  in  danger  from  Mr. 
Greyburn  ?"  she  said. 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  137 

"Do  I  think — ?"  he  began.  "What  do  you  think? 
Is  he  a  fit  companion  fer  a  virtuous  woman  ?  For- 
give me,  miss,  if  my  words  seem  to  reflect  on  ye  ; 
but  tell  me,  is  that  man  the  sort  you'd  like  to  see 
with  yer  sister,  if  ye  have  one  ?" 

Gabrielle's  lips  formed  themselves  into  a  little  pout. 

"  Every  woman  must  judge  for  herself  in  such 
things,"  she  said.  "  If  your  Miss  Campbell  is  not  able 
to  take  care  of  herself,  I  fear  your  kind  guardianship 
over  her  will  be  wasted." 

"  Oh,  he'll  never  ruin  her  in  any  fair  way,"  said 
Dinsmore.  "  She  was  too  well  taught  by  her  mother 
for  that.  What  I  fear  is  that  she'll  let  him  get  on 
such  terms  that  he  can  take  her  at  a  disadvantage." 
Then  he  added,  pleadingly  :  "  But  surely,  miss,  ye 
wouldn't  wish  Mr.  Greyburn  to  ruin  this  young  lady. 
Ye'd  help  me  in  gettin'  him  to  quit  her  acquaintance." 

Gabrielle  tapped  her  dainty  foot  inpatiently  on  the 
hassock  where  it  rested. 

"  You  really  forget,"  she  said,  "  what  I  have  told 
you.  I  have  not  seen  Mr.  Greyburn  for  many  weeks, 
and  never  expect  to  again." 

"  You  quarrelled  then  ?" 

"  We  did  not." 

"  Why  did  ye  part  ?" 

"  Because  he  was  going  away." 

"And  wouldn't  take  you?" 

"  I  didn't  ask  him  to.  I  stayed  with  the  house. 
Went  with  the  furniture.  The  new  owner  took  me  at 
an  appraisal.  Don't  you  see  ?" 

Gabrielle  laughed  sweetly  and  softly,'and  Dinsmore, 
partially  convinced,  turned  to  go. 

"God  forbid!"  he  said,  lifting  his  eyes  toward 
heaven,  "  that  she  should  ever  come  to  be  like  this  !" 
And  without  even  saying  good  bye,  he  went  down  the 
stairs  and  into  the  street. 

Jacob  Mendall  came  out  of  the  boudoir  where  he 


138  TIIOU   SHALT   NOT. 

had  been  a  most  interested  listener  to  the  whole  con- 
versation. He  had  written  down  in  his  diary  a  name 
which  he  meant  to  use  some  time,  if  necessary  :  "John 
Dinsmore."  He  was  in  excellent  spirits  ;  so  much  so, 
that  when  the  fair  Gabrielle  sat  on  his  knee,  and  with 
her  cheek  to  his,  told  of  a  set  of  jewelry  at  Tiffany's 
worth  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  which  she  was  dying  to 
possess,  and  which  Walter  declared  that  he  could  not 
afford,  the  worthy  banker  drew  his  check  for  the 
amount,  without  a  word  of  protest. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHERE  was  Greyburn  all  this  time  ? 

He  was  riding1  from  town  to  town  and  from  city  to 
city,  vainly  seeking  in  change  of  scene  relief  from  the 
torrents  which  swept  over  his  soul.  Writing  long 
letters  to  Clara  Campbell,  tearing  up  nine  out  of  every 
ten,  and  sending  the  tenth  one  in  fear  and  trepidation, 
lest  something  in  it  should  be  taken  amiss.  Clara 
had  written  to  him  once,  giving  him  leave  to  continue 
writing,  but  saying  that  she  could  not  promise  regular 
answers  until  she  saw  the  tenor  of  his  communica- 
tions. The  first  letter  that  she  received  read  as  fol- 
lows : 

ON  THE  ROAD,  July  10,  18 — . 
MY  GUARDIAN  ANGEL  : 

Yesterday  I  sold  every  article  which  I  owned  in 
New  York  city  and  shook  off  forever  the  dust  of  the 
place  where  the  most  regretable  part  of  my  life  has 
been  spent. 

From  this  hour  I  exist  because  I  love  you.  All  else 
is  gone.  If  it  is  your  will  that  I  should  die,  write  that 
you  can  never  care  for  me,  and  it  is  done. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  139 

To-night  I  am  at  a  miserable  little  country  hotel. 
Robin  is  stabled  in  the  barn,  which  I  can  see  from 
my  window.  He  is  the  only  friend  upon  whose 
perennial  affection  I  can  now  rely. 

Where  is  this  to  end  ?  I  am  perishing  for  your 
presence  ;  may  I  not  come  to  you  ? 

If  you  could  love  me,  what  a  life  might  open  up  be- 
fore me  !  I  would  take  you  where  you  willed  and 
learn  from  your  dear  lips  the  way  I  ought  to  live. 

Do  you  know,  Clara,  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I  had 
never  told  you  of  my  sins  you  might  have  been  at  this 
moment  my  true  and  loving  wife,  with  your  sweet 
face  pressing  the  pillow  I  find  so  sad  and  lonely  now. 
I  could  have  undeceived  you  after  the  ceremony,  little 
by  little,  when  your  love  had  grown  so  strong  that 
you  could  bear  it.  Must  I  suffer  because  I  was  too 
honest  with  you  ? 

My  dearest  one,  you  must  let  me  come  to  you  !  I 
have  so  much  to  say  that  pen  and  paper  will  not  tell. 

If  I  grow  desperate,  my  love,  and  do  some  terrible 
act,  you  will  be  all  to  blame.  You  can  mould  me  as 
you  will. 

Clara,  my  angel,  write  that  I  may  come,  and  I  will 
fly  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  to  your  side. 

HECTOR. 

Letter  after  letter  of  the  same  tenor  did  he  write 
and  send.  Very  few  answers  came,  and  these  were 
very  brief.  He  travelled  on.  At  times  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  must  fly  to  Springdale  and  put  himself 
again  upon  her  mercy,  but  before  he  could  put  this 
scheme  into  execution,  he  realized  that  to  go  without 
her  permission  would  probably  prove  fatal  to  his  suc- 
cess. Not  to  go  was  terrible  ;  to  go  was  madness  ; 
what  could  he  do  ?  Each  day  the  separation  became 
more  and  more  unbearable. 


140  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

One  day  he  picked  up  a  city  paper  and  read  the 
following  item  : 

"  The  Manhattan  Island  Improvement  Company 
sold  a  large  tract  of  land  recently  to  Mr.  Jacob  Men- 
dall.  Mr.  Mendall  disposed  of  the  entire  lot  yester- 
day at  an  advance  of  ninety-two  thousand  dollars. 
The  lucky  financier  is  one  of  our  most  successful 
business  men." 

This  apparently  innocent  paragraph  was  enough 
to  fan  the  nearly  dead  embers  into  a  blaze. 

"  So,"  said  Grey  burn  to  himself,  "  our  friend  Jacob 
is  making  fortunes,  and  I  am  to  lose  everything.  The 
money  I  was  inveigled  into  risking,  is  probably  most 
of  it  to  fall  to  him.  He  shall  not  win  it!  And  yet, 
how  can  I  prevent  it  ?" 

Three  hours  of  brown  study  followed,  and  then 
Greyburn  started  to  his  feet  with  an  oath. 

"  By  all  the  gods  !  I  have  it.  I  might  as  well  make 
a  trial  for  my  life  as  to  endure  this  any  longer.  If 
all  works  right,  I  shall  win  the  wager.  The  rest  will 
take  care  of  itself." 

The  next  express  for  New  York  bore  him  toward 
the  metropolis.  Reaching  the  city,  he  went  quietly 
to  a  hotel  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Stedman,  cashier 
of  the  bank  where  he  had  been  used  to  deposit,  ask- 
ing that  gentleman  to  call  upon  him  in  the  evening, 
at  nine  o'clock. 

Punctual  to  the  hour,  came  Mr.  Stedman.  The  re- 
sult of  their  conversation  was  such  that  early  the 
next  morning  a  warrant  was  in  the  hands  of  a  Tombs 
officer,  authorizing  him  to  take  the  body  of  one 
Walter  Campbell,  clerk,  and  convey  him  before  some 
competent  magistrate,  that  he  might  be  committed  to 
jail  on  the  charge  of  forgery.  No  mention  of  Grey- 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  14! 

burn's  name  as  prosecutor  appeared  in  the  document, 
as  Mr.  Sted man  had  agreed  to  let  the  bank  take  the 
entire  honor  upon  itself. 

The  officer  who  was  to  serve  the  warrant  was  given 
careful  instructions  and  knew  his  business  well.  He 
broke  in  upon  Walter's  osculatory  exercise  at  the 
door  of  his  residence  by  giving  a  vigorous  pull  at  the 
bell  just  as  the  master  of  the  house  was  getting 
ready  to  leave  it.  The  young  man  paled  a  good  deal 
when  he  learned  the  nature  of  the  officer's  errand, 
but  he  kept  up  a  reasonably  good  front,  after  all. 

"  It  is  damnable,"  he  said  "  but  I  know  better  than 
to  make  any  trouble  im you.  It  will  get  my  name  in 
print,  I  suppose,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  prob- 
ably make  me  no  end  of  annoyance.  But  that  doesn't 
interest  you.  Where  am  I  to  go  ?" 

"  Just  down  to  Jefferson  Market,"  said  Mr.  Bilks, 
the  officer.  "  I  suppose  you'll  waive  examination  and 
get  committed  for  the  next  term  of  the  upper  court. 
This  court  can  only  bind  you  over.  It's  a  ticklish 
thing — this  forging.  The  judges  are  getting  very 
severe  on  it  lately.  The  highest  penalty  is  twenty 
years  at  Sing  Sing." 

With  such  enlivening  conversation  did  Mr.  Bilks 
beguile  the  trip  down  town,  made  in  a  carriage  which 
he  had  brought  for  the  purpose.  When  his  thoughts 
began  to  run  in  normal  channels  again,  Walter  in- 
quired if  he  could  not  see  a  friend — a  very  particular 
friend — who  would  probably  become  surety  for  him, 
before  they  went  to  the  court.  Receiving  an  affirma- 
tive reply,  he  directed  Bilks  to  drive  to  the  office  of 
Mr.  Jacob  Mendall. 

Mendall  was  a  good  deal  disturbed  when  he  learned 
of  the  course  affairs  had  taken.  Walter's  reputation 
was  a  very  delicate  piece  of  mechanism  just  now,  and 
very  valuable  to  him.  He  knew- enough  of  the  law  to 
keep  on  the  blind  side  of  the  woman  who  holds  the 


142  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

scales,  but  he  was  not  sanguine  as  to  the  success 
which  his  young  friend  might  have.  If  conviction 
followed,  the  term  in  state  prison  would  be  long 
enough  to  put  all  prospects  of  any  immediate  return 
from  their  financial  partnership  out  of  the  question  ; 
unless,  indeed,  Walter  purchased  his  pardon  by  re- 
vealing, as  he  could,  the  deeper  rascalities  of  others. 
At  all  events,  a  published  announcement  of  his  arrest 
would  entail  endless  complications. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  Mendall  to  the  officer,  "is 
there  any  way  in  which  you  can  help  my  friend  in 
this  matter  ?  If  so,  I  shall  not  forget  it." 

"  There  is  something  that  could  be  done,"  said 
Bilks,  all  primed  as  he  was  at  the  instigation  of  Grey- 
burn,  "  in  this  way:  I  could  get  Mr.  Campbell  ar- 
raigned on  the  quiet  and  a  few  dollars  would  prevent 
the  papers  in  the  case  getting  within  reach  of  any  of 
the  newspaper  reporters." 

"  That  would  be  immense  !"  cried  Walter.  "  But 
they  would  get  it  all  sooner  or  later,"  he  added,  with 
an  uncomfortable  shrug. 

"  Then,"  said  Bilks,  "  after  arraignment,  if  the  gen- 
tleman would  pay  liberally  for  the  privilege,  I  could 
take  him  in  charge  in  his  own  house,  instead  of  lock- 
ing him  up  in  Ludlow  street.  It's  a  little  irregular, 
of  course,  but  it  has  been  done  and  can  be  again.  It 
would  have  to  be  a  real  watch,  you  see,  no  fooling 
about  it,  as  I  should  have  to  bring  him  into  court 
whenever  the  case  was  assigned.  It  would  take  a  day 
and  night  watch;  my  partner,  Mr.  Haney,  half  the  day 
and  I  the  rest.  I  don't  suggest  anything,  but  things 
have  been  done  like  that." 

Walter  looked  at  Mendall. 

"  You  could  bail  me,  I  suppose,  and  save  all  that 
trouble,"  he  said. 

Mendall  was  thinking.  He  had  expected  this  very 
question,  and  it  worried  him  not  a  little.  If  the  batJ 


THOU    SHALT    NOT.  143 

was  high,  the  fear  of  sentence  would  be  proportion- 
ate, and  the  accused  might  be  hard  to  find  when 
wanted.  He  was  wondering  what  answer  to  make 
when  Bilks  came  to  his  rescue. 

"  Bailing  makes  publicity,"  he  said.  "  You  can't 
avoid  it.  There  must  be  two  sureties  on  the  bond 
and  a  notary  to  witness  it.  That  makes  three  or  four 
people  to  keep  quiet,  and  it  would  be  next  to  impos- 
sible to  stop  the  thing  from  getting  known." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that,  Walter,"  said  Mendall, 
much  relieved.  "  Your  best  way  is  to  let  this  gentle- 
man exercise  a  watch  over  you  at  your  house  until  we 
can  see  what  to  do.  Send  word  to  City  Hall  that  you 
are  sick  and  cannot  be  there  for  a  few  days.  In  the 
meantime  I  will  get  a  good  lawyer  and  do  the  best  I 
can  for  you." 

Walter  acquiesced  in  this  arrangement  and  was 
driven  to  the  court-house,  where,  in  the  most  quiet  and 
confidential  way,  the  judge  put  him  under  bonds  for 
his  appearance  at  the  next  term  of  the  upper  court, 
and  committed  him  into  the  hands  of  the  sheriff  for 
safe  keeping.  Half-an-hour  later  he  was  with  Ga- 
brielle,  telling  her  the  story,  while  Bilks  sat  at  a 
respectful  distance  keeping  guard. 

"Isn't  it  funny!"  was  Gabrielle's  comment.  "A 
real  policeman  and  a  real  judge  !  Do  you  think  they 
will  send  you  to  Sing  Sing  ?  It  must  be  awfully  ro- 
mantic there  !  I've  seen  the  place  from  the  steamer. 
Can  I  call  on  you  and  bring  you  bouquets  and  books  ?" 

Toward  evening  came  a  note  by  a  messenger. 
Walter  opened  it  and  read  : 

CITY,  Aug.  13,  18 — . 
MY  DEAR  BOY  : 

I  have  just  learned  in  the  most  accidental  way  of 
your  trouble.  I  do  not  see  what  possessed  the  bank 
officers  to  prosecute  the  case  when  they  knew  I  should 


144  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

not,  and  they  had  not  lost  a  cent  out  of  it.  I  hope, 
however,  through  my  acquaintance  with  influential 
parties,  to  relieve  you  of  your  embarrassment.  It 
will  not  be  wise  for  me  to  call,  but  if  there  is  anything 
I  can  do,  write,  and  you  may  rely  on  my  efforts. 
Truly, 

H.  GREYBURN. 

P.  S. — You  need  have  no  fear  that  others  will  learn 
of  the  matter.  I  am  sure  no  one  in  the  world  but 
myself  would  have  heard  what  I  did.  It  was  the 
purest  accident. 

H.  G. 

Walter  took  his  pen  and  wrote  hastily  and  impul- 
sively • 

IN  BONDAGE,  Aug.  13,  18 — . 
MY  KIND  FRIEND  : 

Your  generous  letter  fills  me  with  gratitude.  I  was 
as  much  astonished  as  you  could  have  been  when  the 
officer  called  at  my  house  this  morning  and  took  me 
into  custody.  You  may  imagine  my  feelings.  The 
sentence  is  twenty  years,  which  would  in  my  case 
mean  death,  as  I  neither  could  nor  would  serve  it  out. 
You  have  placed  me  under  repeated  obligations, 
which  I  have  ill  repaid.  Save  me  this  time,  and  if  I 
ever  treat  you  unkindly  again  may  that  act  be  my  last. 
Yours  ever, 

W.  CAMPBELL. 


Greyburn  received  this  letter  with  unbounded  de- 
light. "  It  is  perfection  itself  !"  he  cried.  "  Now 
let  me  try  the  other."  And  he  wrote  : 


THOU  SHALT  NOT.  145 

CITY,  Aug.  13,  1 8 — . 
MY  DEAR  SIR  : 

A  young  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Walter  Campbell,  has 
been  held  in  the  Jefferson  Market  Police  Court  to-day 
on  a  very  serious  charge — that  of  forgery.  The 
offense,  if  any  there  is  (which  I  dispute),  is  against 
me,  and  not  against  the  Bank  which  enters  the  com- 
plaint. It  will  be  easy  for  you  to  nol.  pros,  the  case 
and  throw  it  out  of  the  files  without  publicity.  This 
you  can  well  do,  as  the  accused  is  a  mere  boy,  and  the 
alleged  crime  merely,  at  the  worst,  a  too  free  use  of 
the  permissions  which  I  gave  him.  Do  this  in  the 
name  of  Mercy.  What  say  you  ? 

H.  GREYBURN. 

H.  R.  SPAULDING,  Esq. 

The  next  day  came  this  answer : 

CITY,  Aug.  14,  1 8 — . 
DEAR  FRIEND  : 

Your  good  temper  has  led  you  to  ask  too  much  in 
the  case  of  young  Campbell.  Unpleasant  as  it  may 
be  to  your  feelings,  he  will  have  to  take  his  trial. 
If  convicted,  the  court  will  deal  harshly  with  him,  as 
the  judges  are  all  determined  to  make  an  example. 
These  things  are  not  pleasant  to  me,  but  I  am  an  offi- 
cer of  the  law.  The  young  man  is  only  an  acquaint- 
ance of  yours,  after  all.  Were  he  a  relation,  so  that 
the  injury  to  his  name  would  hurt  yours,  I  would  do 
my  best.  ,As  it  is,  with  great  regret  I  say  it,  I  can  do 
nothing. 

HENRY  R.  SPAULDING. 

P.  S. — Come  up  and  play  a  game  of  whist  with  me 
some  evening.  I  am  at  home  nearly  always. 


146  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

As  Greyburn  read  these  lines  the  joy  they  gave 
him  showed  in  every  lineament  of  his  face. 

"  Fate  smiles  on  me  at  last  !"  he  said,  half  aloud. 
"  Spaulding  has  worded  his  letter  in  a  way  which  I 
could  not  have  equalled  even  in  imagination.  It  will 
remove  the  necessity  that  I  should  appear  harsh  with 
Clara,  demanding  her  sacrifice  in  return  for  saving 
her  brother's  life.  With  this  letter  in  my  hand  I  can 
offer  myself  as  the  door  through  which  she  can  assist 
him  to  escape.  Capital  !  Excellent !  If  this  fails  I 
am  no  prophet.  Hector  Greyburn,  you  are  in  luck ! 
You  will  outwit  your  Mendalls  and  your  Middlebys 
after  all  !" 

Springdale  in  not  on  the  line  of  the  railroad.  Six 
miles  from  the  village  is  the  railway  station  at  Brews- 
ter.  Toward  dark  Greyburn  alighted  at  Brewster 
and  ordered  the  first  carriage  he  met  to  convey  him 
with  all  speed  to  Springdale.  Arriving  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village  he  told  the  driver  to  wait  there 
for  him,  no  matter  how  long  he  was  gone.  In  ten 
minutes  more  Clara  Campbell  opened  the  door  of  her 
cottage  and,  to  her  intense  surprise,  beheld  him 
standing  on  the  threshold. 

A  half  indignant  feeling  rose  in  the  breast  of  the 
maiden  that  he  should  have  ventured  to  come  with- 
out leave,  but  mingled  with  it  was  a  deep  sense  of  joy 
that  he  was  there.  All  the  time  that  Clara  had  been 
writing  to  him  in  the  curtest  of  letters  that  he  must 
stay  away,  she  had  longed  for  the  hour  when  he 
would  be  again  at  her  side.  Her  heart  was  persuaded, 
if  not  her  reason.  As  she  opened  the  door  and  bade 
him  enter,  she  experienced  a  mixture  of  sensations 
which  brought  the  high  color  to  her  cheek.  She 
motioned  him  to  a  chair  and  sat  down  without  speak- 
ing. 

Greyburn  stood  with  hat  in  hand,  not  less  excited 
than  was  his  hostess.  He  was  the  first  to  find  words  ; 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  147 

"  Have  you  no  better  welcome  than  this  for  me, 
Clara  ?  After  all  these  weeks,  when  one  glimpse  of 
your  face  would  have  been  worth  all  the  rest  of  the 
earth  ?" 

A  forced  smile  came  into  her  flushed  face.  There 
was  no  cynicism  nor  anger  in  its  expression,  and  it 
flashed  upon  him  that  her  astonishment  at  his  unex- 
pected advent  was  the  cause  of  her  reticence.  He 
sprang  to  her  side  and  addressed  her  again  : 

"  My  life  !  my  angel  !  you  are  not  sorry  I  came  ? 
You  have  a  thrill  for  the  poor  wanderer,  have  you 
not  ?  You  will  not  send  me  away  without  a  word  of 
comfort  ?  I  frightened  you  by  appearing  so  sud- 
denly. I  was  inconsiderate.  Pray  forgive  me." 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes  in  a  way  which  set  his 
heart  to  beating  rapidly,  and  motioned  him  to  be 
seated. 

"  I  do  forgive  you,"  she  said.  "  But  you  should 
have  let  me  know.  I  don't  think  I  am  quite  well  to- 
day." 

"I  would  not  have  come,"  he  replied,  "if  I  could 
have  helped  it.  I  have  an  errand  for  you." 

"From  Walter?"  she  almost  screamed. 

"  From  Walter." 

"  Is  he  ill  ?  Let  me  fly  to  him  !"  cried  the  girl, 
rising.  "  He  is  not  dead  !"  she  cried  again,  as  a  new 
and  freezing  horror  came  over  her. 

"  Not  dead — not  even  ill,"  said  Greyburn,  with 
great  solemnity.  "Calm  yourself  and  I  will  tell  you." 

Clara  stood  before  him  with  her  lips  quivering  and 
her  eyes  distended. 

"  Tell  me  instantly  !"  she  said,  unconsciously  tak- 
ing hold  of  his  sleeve.  "  Instantly  !  He  is  my  only 
brother  !  I  love  him  as  I  love  no  other  earthly  thing  ! 
What  has  he  done  ?" 

"  He  is  under  arrest  for  forgery,"  said  Greyburn, 


148  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

despairing  of  finding  words  to  make  the  statement 
easier. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  would  faint  then,  but  she  did 
not.  vShe  staggered  a  little,  and  he  willingly  lent  her 
the  strength  of  his  arm  until  he  could  persuade  her 
to  sit  down  again. 

"Poor  boy!  poor  boy!"  she  moaned,  while  the 
beaded  drops  rose  on  her  fair  forehead.  "  It  seems 
as  if  even  death  would  have  been  better.  Our  name 
was  never  tarnished  before."  She  was  silent  a  mo- 
ment and  then  asked,  "  Where  is  he  now — in  jail  ?" 

Then  he  told  her  the  story  :  flow  it  was  his  own 
name  that  had  been  forged,  and  how  after  he  had 
passed  it  over,  the  bank  officials  had  procured  the 
warrant  ;  how  Walter  was  under  guard  in  a  private 
house  ;  how  he  had  tried  to  save  him  and  how  the 
friendship  which  he  had  relied  upon  with  Spaulding 
had  proved  insufficient.  The  stricken  sister  blamed 
herself  during  this  recital  for  her  harshness  to  this 
kind  benefactor  of  her  brother,  and  when  he  had 
finished  she  expressed  her  thanks  with  great  warmth 
of  manner. 

"  I  have  Walter's  letter  here,"  said  Greyburn. 
"  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?" 

The  young  girl  kissed  the  missive  and  read  it 
through  several  times. 

"  He  would  do  it !"  she  said,  musingly.  "  Walter 
would  never  stand  the  disgrace  of  a  felon's  sentence. 
As  he  says,  when  they  send  him  to  Sing  Sing  they 
send  him  to  the  grave." 

Her  feelings  overcame  her  and  she  sobbed  for 
several  minutes.  Greyburn  did  not  interrupt  her. 
Not  now  could  he  kiss  those  tears  away  !  Not  now  ! 

"  He  speaks  so  kindly  of  you,"  she  said,  presently, 
"  that  he  almost  accuses  me." 

"  Not  a  word  of  that,"  interposed  Greyburn.  "  I 
am  your  slave.  Do  not  reproach  yourself  for  any- 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  149 

thing  that  is  past.  We  have  enough  to  do  in  think- 
ing of  the  future.  Would  you  like  to  read  Mr.  Spauld- 
ing's  letter  ?  It  may  not  give  much  comfort,  but  you 
might  like  to  see  it." 

"  I  will  not  believe  that  the  case  is  hopeless,"  said 
Clara,  when  she  had  perused  the  note  which  he 
handed  her.  "  It  is  evident  that  he  would  like  to 
oblige  you.  See  what  he  says  :  '  Were  he  a  relation, 
so  that  the  injury  to  his  name  would  hurt  yours,  I 
would  do  my  best.'  Surely  the  man  who  wrote  that 
has  a  kind  heart.  You  can  move  him.  I  know  you 
can  !" 

Greyburn  shook  his  head. 

"  I  know  him  thoroughly,"  said  he.  "  He  is,  as  he 
says,  an  officer.  The  conviction  of  felons  is  his  daily 
avocation.  He  would  go  far  to  oblige  me  if  the  case 
were  the  one  he  cites,  but  to  him  my  interest  in  this 
matter  seems  purely  sentimental,  and  he  would  not 
interfere.  Look  at  the  postscript  :  '  Come  up  and  play 
a  game  of  whist  ?'  You  see  it  is  all  business  with  him." 

"You  could  try,"  said  Clara. 

"  Yes,  and  I  will  try— try  all  I  can — with  every  argu- 
ment I  can  bring,  rest  assured  of  that.  I  shall  try 
for  your  sake,  Clara,  as  under  other  circumstances 
Spaulding  would  try  for  mine." 

For  an  hour  more  they  talked  together,  and  then 
Greyburn  said  that  he  must  start  for  Brewster  in  order 
to  get  the  night  train  for  home.  It  was  agreed  that 
Miss  Campbell  had  better  remain  in  Springdale,  as 
she  could  do  nothing  in  the  city,  and  Greyburn 
promised  to  send  her  daily  bulletins  of  the  latest 
news  in  the  matter  which  concerned  her  so  deeply. 
When  he  left  he  did  not  offer  to  kiss  or  even  caress 
her,  but  lifted  his  hat  in  the  old-time  fashion.  The 
grief  which  rested  on  the  little  house  would  not  admit 
of  anything  lighter. 

Every   day,  after  his  return,  he   wrote  a  letter   to 


150  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

Clara.  With  all  the  skill  of  which  he  was  capable  he 
continued  to  present  the  disheartening  features  of  the 
case  in  their  full  light.  When  a  week  had  passed, 
believing  that  the  time  was  ripe  for  the  next  move, 
he  sent  the  following  letter  : 

NEW  YORK,  Aug.  22,  18 — . 
DEAR  Miss  CAMPBELL: 

Within  a  few  days  your  brother  will  be  called  for 
trial  unless  a  miracle  interposes  in  his  behalf.  That 
miracle,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  in  your  power  to 
bring  about. 

The  more  I  have  worked  upon  your  brother's  caser 
the  more  discouraged  I  have  become.  I  can  see  but 
one  way  to  save  him,  and  that,  I  fear,  will  require  too 
much  sacrifice  on  your  part. 

You  will  remember  that  Mr.  Spaulding  wrote  me 
that  were  Walter  "  a  relation"  of  mine,  he  would  in- 
terpose. Despairing  of  any  other  argument,  at  the 
close  of  a  long  conversation  to-day,  I  told  him  that 
Walter's  sister  was  dearer  to  me  than  life  itself,  and 
that  his  fate  was  therefore  as  much  to  me  as  if  he 
were  really  my  kin.  Mr.  Spaulding  said  :  "  I  will 
keep  my  word.  The  day  he  becomes  your  relation  I 
will  save  him." 

Clara,  as  my  wife's  brother,  Walter  would  be  easily 
freed. 

I  have  no  more  to  say.     Your  answer  must  decide. 
With  love  and  regard, 

Clara's  answer  was  to  immediately  make  arrange- 
ments for  an  indefinite  stay  from  home  and  take  an  early 
train  for  New  York  city.  Apprised  by  a  telegram  of 
her  action,  Greyburn  met  her  at  the  station.  He 
found  her  very  pale  but  calm. 

"  Has  anything  transpired  since  you  wrote  ?"  she 
asked. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  151 

"  Nothing." 

"  Then  I  am  ready." 

"To  be  my  wife  !"  he  cried. 

"  To  save  my  brother,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no 
time  for  preparation.  You  must  take  me  as  I  am.  I 
feel  as  though  Walter  was  in  the  quicksands  and 
every  hour's  delay  dangerous." 

They  entered  a  carriage. 

"  To  the  Hampden  !"  was  the  direction  which  Grey- 
burn  gave. 

The  girl's  face  was  fixed  immovably  at  one  of  the 
windows.  He  knew  better  than  to  disturb  her,  and 
when  they  reached  the  hotel  he  quietly  escorted  her 
to  her  room.  It  was  in  the  early  evening,  and  as  he 
whispered  to  her  to  await  his  return,  she  hardly 
seemed  to  notice  what  he  said. 

In  an  hour  he  came  back,  accompanied  by  another 
gentleman. 

"The  clergyman,"  he  explained,  briefly. 

Clara  rose  and  said  the  necessary  words,  and  then 
sat  down  again.  He  whispered  to  her  that  he  must 
again  be  absent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  departed — 
this  time  to  the  residence  of  Clarence  Perky ns,  Esq. 

"  I've  come  to  say  that  to-morrow  morning  I  shall 
claim  the  amount  of  the  wager,"  he  said,  as  Mr.  Per- 
kyns  showed  his  smiling  face  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Indeed  !  and  the  proofs  ?"  said  Mr.  Perkyns. 

"Are  for  you  to  be  satisfied  of.  In  the  first  place, 
here  is  this  telegram  from  Brewster,  stating  that  Miss 
Clara  Campbell  would  leave  thereon  the  three  o'clock 
train  and  meet  me  at  the  Grand  Central  Depot. 
Next  is  hackman  No.  1826,  who  brought  us  to  the 
Hampden,  where  we  are  now  staying.  Thirdly, 
Miss  Campbell's  trunks,  marked  with  her  name  and 
address,  which  I  am  going  to  show  you.  And 
fourthly,  the  young  lady  herself,  a  glimpse  of  whom 


152  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

I  suppose  it  is  necessary  you  should  take.     Can  you 
go  over  with  me  now  ?" 

"  At  once,"  said  Mr.  Perkyns,  taking  out  from  his 
safe  the  document  which  Greyburnand  Middlebyhad 
signed,  and  glancing  through  its  contents.  Let  me 
see  the  telegram  again.  That's  all  right.  Now  let  us 

go-" 

The  hackman  and  trunks  were  inspected,  and  Mr. 
Perkyns  ascended  the  hotel  stairs  and  saw  with  his 
own  eyes  that  a  very  charming  young  lady  occupied 
the  room  into  which  Mr.  Greyburn  passed  and  locked 
the  door. 

But  he  was  a  careful  fellow,  was  Perkyns.  So  it 
happened  that  he  sent  a  dispatch  to  Brewster,  within 
the  next  hour,  asking  the  telegraph  operator  at  that 
place  for  a  description  of  Miss  Clara  Campbell  of 
Springdale,  and  whether  she  had  left  there  on  the 
southern  train  that  day.  Both  replies  being  satisfac- 
tory, Clarence  Perkyns,  Esq.,  took  a  turn  or  two  up 
and  down  the  street,  muttered  a  few  words  to  the  ef- 
fect that  Greyburn  was  d — d  lucky,  and  went  to  his 
club  and  played  billiards  till  past  midnight. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHEN  Hector  Greyburn  passed  into  his  room  and 
locked  the  door  behind  him,  Clara  sat  at  a  window, 
pressing  her  face  against  the  pane,  with  her  eye  fixed 
on  the  evening  sky,  which  was  lit  up  by  thousands 
of  those  spheres  of  light  which  may  be,  for  all  we 
know,  the  homes  of  beings  with  their  own  joys  and 
sorrows,  hopes  and  disappointments.  She  was 
wrapped  in  thought.  Walter,  her  only  brother,  was 
the  subject  which  agitated  her  mind.  She  forgot  all 
about  herself ;  forgot  where  she  was  ;  forgot  the  vows 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  153 

she  had  just  taken  ;  forgot  everything-  but  Walter. 
So  completely  was  she  lost  in  thought  that  Greyburn 
had  been  in  the  room  for  some  minutes  before  she 
noticed  his  presence.  He  stood  gazing  upon  her  with 
a  strange  look  on  his  handsome  countenance,  for 
handsome  it  was  still,  though  sorely  distraught  on 
this  memorable  night  of  his  life,  long  before  he  broke 
the  silence  and  recalled  her  to  herself. 

"Clara!" 

She  turned  with  a  start,  and  for  the  briefest  possible 
moment  seemed  not  to  realize  where  they  were.  Then 
the  knowledge  came  like  a  flood,  and  the  color  rose  to 
her  pure  white  cheeks 

"  Clara !" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Greyburn." 

"  Not  Hector,  Clara  ?     Not  even  now  ?" 

He  said  it  reproachfully,  and  the  look  which  she 
gave  satisfied  him,  though  she  spoke  no  word. 

"  Do  you  remember  where  we  are  ?" 

She  bowed  her  head  mutely,  and  he  saw  that  she 
understood. 

"  This  is  the  Hampden." 

"  Yes."     Her  lips  silently  formed  the  words. 

"You  are  my  wife.  It  is  our  wedding  night.  This 
is  our  bridal  chamber." 

"  Mr.  Greyburn — Hector— spare  me  !"  she  cried. 
"  It  is  the  saddest  hour  of  my  life.  My  brother — my 
darling  brother— is  in  prison.  His  release,  while 
probable,  is  not  certain.  I  am  alone  with  you  in  a 
strange  city,  almost  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  out  of 
sight  of  the  home-roof." 

He  looked  at  her  almost  coldly. 

"  Not  a  loving  word  ?"  he  said.  "  Not  a  fond  look  ? 
Not  one  kiss  ?" 

The  conscientious  little  Clara  was  upon  her  feet  in 
an  instant. 

"  I  was  wrong.     Say  no  more.     I  am  your  wife." 


154  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

She  had  never  looked  so  beautiful  to  him  as  at  that 
moment.  Still  attired  in  her  traveling  garments, 
with  no  ornament  to  add  to  her  charms,  she  seemed 
like  an  angelic  being.  It  was  her  action,  her  words, 
and  the  bright  flashing  of  her  blue  eyes.  All  seemed 
to  say,  "  Here  I  am,  my  husband.  Take  me." 

"  Will  you  obey  all  my  commands  ?"  Greyburn 
asked,  fixing  his  eyes  searchingly  upon  her  face. 

She  glanced  for  an  instant  about  the  room  as  if  to 
collect  her  thoughts. 

"  I  must — yes — I  will  obey  you." 

"  You  have  not  removed  either  your  bonnet  or  your 
cloak,"  he  said. 

"  I — forgot,"  she  stammered,  making  a  movement 
to  untie  the  strings  of  her  bonnet. 

"  Stop  /"  cried  Greyburn. 

She  ceased  at  once. 

"  Not  for  the  world  !"  he  cried,  with  passionate 
vehemence.  "  for  a  thousand  worlds  would  I  permit 
you  to  finish  that  ?" 

She  looked  startled.  His  manner  was  so  at 
variance  with  the  apparent  unimportance  of  the  sub- 
ject discussed,  that  she  had  a  momentary  fear  that 
she  was  locked  into  a  room  with  a  madman. 

"  Clara  !"  he  continued,  "  listen !  You  have 
promised  to  obey  me.  It  is  my  desire — nay,  my  com- 
mand—that you  will  sit  here  all  night  long  without 
removing  one  article  of  clothing.  Not  a  button  of 
your  cloak  must  be  touched.  Not  a  glove  on  your 
hand." 

She  regarded  him  with  wonder,  but  the  suspicion 
of  insanity  faded  away.  And  there  came  another 
feeling  to  this  guileless  child — a  feeling  that  perhaps 
she  was  somehow  to  blame,  and  that,  however  foreign 
it  might  be  to  her  mood,  she  owed  him  a  better  recep- 
tion. 

"  Hector,"  she  said,  moving  towajd   him,    "forgive 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  1 55 

me  if  I  have  done  wrong.  I  am  not  quite  myself  to- 
night." 

He  started  and  moved  further  away. 

"  Will  you  obey  me  ?" 

"  I  have  promised  to  do  that  !" 

"  You  promised,  also,  to  love  and  honor  me,"  he 
said  with  suppressed  bitterness,  "  two  things  you  can 
never  do.  Why  should  you  obey  a  man  whom  you 
neither  love  nor  honor  ?" 

"  Obeying  is  an  easy  thing,"  said  Clara.  "  I  will 
obey  you  from  the  first.  I  will  honor  you  as  fast  as — 
as  you  will  make  it  possible  for  me.  And  I  will  love 
you  at  least  so  much  as  this,  that  no  other  man  shall 
ever  touch  my  heart.  Hector,  let  us  be  honest  with 
each  other." 

He  renewed  that  searching  look,  and  then  like  a 
despairing  man  he  broke  out  : 

"  Don't  you  love  me  at  all,  Clara  ?  Not  even  a 
little  ?  Am  I  wholly  hateful  to  you  ?" 

"  Hush  !"  she  said,  soothingly.  "  Do  not  make  my 
position  harder  than  it  need  to  be.  You  are  a  man 
and  should  be  magnanimous." 

"  You  will  obey  me  ?"  he  asked  the  third  time. 

"  Assuredly,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  resume  your  seat." 

How  strange  he  was  !  She  was  almost  frightened 
again. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said.  "  To-night  you  must  not 
for  your  life  remove  one  article  which  you  wear. 
You  must  not  touch  me.  If  you  are  tired,  you  may 
iie  on  that  sofa.  If  you  are  not  tired,  we  will  sit 
where  we  are.  I  have  something — I  do  not  know 
how  much — to  say  to  you.  When  I  am  ready  I  will 
tell  you." 

It  was  an  hour  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  I  said  that  day  we  were 
walking  on  the  hillside  at  Springdale — that  I  was 


1 56  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

the  greatest  villain  the  sun  in  heaven  saw  in  all  his 
rounds  ?"  • 

"  I  remember  it,"  she  said.  "  I  also  remember  that 
I  told  you  I  thought  you  were  much  too  severe  on 
your  own  follies  when  you  made  so  extravagant  a 
statement." 

"  After  you  have  heard  the  story  of  my  life,"  he  re- 
plied, "  you  will  say  that  I  have  described  my  char- 
acter mildly.  You  have  heard  of  sea-pirates  who 
rob  ships  of  merchandise  and  throw  the  passengers 
into  the  ocean  ?" 

Clara  gave  a  little  scream  of  horror. 

"Don't  tell  me,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  over 
her  eyes,  "  that  you  were  ever  one  of  those  !" 

"  No,"  said  Greyburn,  "  not  I.  They  are  gentle- 
men— honest,  Christian  gentlemen — compared  to 
what  I  have  been." 

He  spoke  so  earnestly  that  she  instinctively  drew 
her  chair  further  away. 

"  Worse  than  sea-pirates,  yes  !  And,  until  within 
this  )Tear,  Clara,  I  never  dreamed  that  I  was  doing 
anything  wrong.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  have  been  ?" 

"  If  you  desire,  I  will  hear,"  she  answerd,  "  but  if  I 
become  too  much  affected  give  me  time.  I  am  very 
nervous." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  a  tale  of  blood  and  knives,  pistols  and 
cutlasses,"  he  said.  "  I  am  no  murderer.  But  listen  : 

"  My  mother  died  when  I  was  born,  my  father  not 
much  later.  A  guardian  undertook  to  expend  on  my 
board  and  education  the  little  sum  which  was  left  to 
me.  As  a  boy  I  went  to  school  when  I  pleased,  and 
stayed  away  when  I  liked.  I  had  only  to  look  at  a  les- 
son to  know  it.  In  the  hands  of  a  careful  tutor  I  might 
have  learned  anything.  Reading  was  my  main  diver- 
sion when  indoors.  Everything  in  print  fascinated  me. 
I  read  all  kinds  of  books,  devouring  them  with  a  rav- 
enous appetite, 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  157 

"At  eighteen  I  was  a  handsome  boy.  I  have  a 
right  to  say  it,  for  every  one  said  it  for  me.  A  lady 
who  came  to  stay  that  summer  in  the  town  where  I 
lived,  told  me  so,  among  others.  She  was  a  beauti- 
ful woman  in  all  that  goes  to  make  up  physical 
perfection.  Only  twenty-five  years  of  age,  she  was 
tied  to  a  man  of  seventy,  a  rich  old  fellow  who 
was  almost,  if  not  quite  in  his  dotage.  Riding 
through  a  lovely  bit  of  woods  on  horseback  alone  one 
day,  she  met  me.  I  was  not  too  young  to  notice  her 
charming  face,  and  the  red  lips,  dark  eyes  and  rosy 
cheeks  flashed  on  me  like  a  vision.  The  lady  stopped 
and  made  some  trivial  inquiries,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes we  were  fast  friends.  She  asked  me  if  I  often 
walked  on  that  road,  and  I  told  her  that  I  should  al- 
ways do  so  if  I  knew  that  I  could  meet  her  there. 
She  replied  that  she  might  be  there  at  the  same  hour 
any  day.  The  next  afternoon  I  wandered  to  the 
place  and  found  her  before  me. 

"  I  can  tell  little  of  what  we  said.  I  remember 
that  she  asked  me  why  I  stayed  in  that  Tittle  country 
village,  and  that  I,  feeling  piqued,  retorted  by  asking 
why  she  had  married  that  little  old  man  whom  I  had 
seen  with  her  at  the  hotel.  She  laughed,  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  leave  the  village  if  she  would  leave  the 
old  man. 

'"Why,  you  goose  !'  she  said,  looking  me  boldly 
in  the  face,  'he's  not  my  husband.  His  money  is  all 
that  keeps  us  together,  and  I'm  tired  of  him.  Go 
with  me.  Let  us  fly  the  town  to-night  while  every 
one  is  asleep.' 

"  The  idea  of  an  elopement  fascinated  me.  When 
morning  came  we  were  here  in  New  York.  Our  life 
together  lasted  a  month.  I  suspect  she  tired  of  me 
even  sooner.  As  for  me,  I  was  charmed  both  with 
her  and  the  gayeties  of  the  metropolis.  One  morning 
she  left  me  a  note,  saying,  '  Dearest,  we  must  part ; 


158  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

enclosed  is  one  hundred  dollars  ;  I  have  a  new  lover 
with  plenty  of  money.  Good-bye.'  I  went  away  with 
a  feeling  as  if  I  had  been  violently  struck  upon  the 
head. 

"  I  wandered  about  the  suburbs  and  then  further 
away  into  the  country.  It  was  autumn.  My  friends, 
the  squirrels,  were  putting-  in  their  winter's  store  of 
food.  The  trees  I  loved  had  arrayed  their  forms  in 
darker  shades.  I  spent  my  days  clambering  over  the 
hills,  and  my  evenings  talking  nonsense  to  a  young 
feminine  creature  in  a  farm-house  where  I  slept. 
Tiring  at  last  of  the  solitude,  I  began  to  long  to  see 
the  city  again.  I  told  her  I  must  go  and  she  begged 
me  to  take  her.  She  has  told  the  story  often,  and 
much  better  than  I  can.  When  we  reached  here  our 
money  was  nearly  gone.  In  an  attic,  on  Eighth  avenue, 
we  starved  for  a  week.  I  knew  no  more  how  to  earn 
a  dime  than  how  to  reach  the  moon.  She  did,  how- 
ever. One  night,  very  late,  she  came  in  and  gave  me 
a  ten-dollar  bill.  A  man  had  exchanged  it  for  a  few 
hours  of  her  company.  It  lasted  us  a  week,  and  then 
— she  got  more." 

Clara's  lips  formed  the  word  "  Horrible  !"  but  she 
spoke  not. 

"  One  day  I  met  my  lady-love's  masculine  friend. 
He  was  twice  my  age,  in  sin  as  well  as  years.  Find- 
ing that  I  was  penniless,  he  made  me  an  offer. 
'  Leave  the  girl  to  me,'  he  said, '  and  I  will  give  you  a 
thousand  dollars.'  I  closed  the  bargain." 

"  Hector  !"  cried  Clara,  "  tell  me  no  more  to-night.  I 
.cannot  bear  it." 

"  If  it  is  hard  for  you  to  hear,  what  must  it  be  for 
me  to  repeat,"  said  Greyburn,  with  a  shade  of  tender- 
ness. "  I  look  upon  the  record  as  you  do,  and  exten- 
uate nothing.  The  Evil  One  himself  has  always  stood 
my  counsellor,  and  I  have  listened  to  him,  never  sus- 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  159 

pecting  whose  was  the  siren  voice,  until  I  can  no 
longer  say  him  nay." 

"  Not  now,  Hector  !  "  said  Clara.  "  Not  now  !  You 
have  repented  these  things  and  will  never  sin  again." 

Greyburn  shook  his  head. 

"  Now,  more  than  ever,"  he  said.  "  I  am  growing 
worse  every  day.  Because,  even  when  I  know  how 
bad  is  my  course  I  cannot  turn  from  it.  With  my 
eyes  wide  open  I  am  walking  straight  on  toward  the 
yawning  chasm." 

"  But  you  will  stop,"  she  said.  "  With  your  own 
strength  of  will  ;  and  with  my  help — and  God's  !" 

"  Hear  me  to  the  end,"  he  said,  "and  then  you  will 
see  whether  even  you  will  predict  a  better  life  for  me." 

u  I  took  the  thousand  dollars  which  I  got  from  that 
man,  and  put  it  carefully  away.  I  began  to  see  that  I 
must  look  out  for  myself.  I  had  a  fair  education  and 
was  an  excellent  penman.  In  a  few  weeks  I  obtained 
a  good  situation.  The  business  of  the  company  which 
employed  me  was  one  of  many  millions  a  year.  I 
found  that  men  high  in  the  confidence  of  the  com- 
pany had  banded  together  to  rob  it  of  large  sums.  A 
way  developed  by  which  I  could  make  money  for  my- 
self out  of  this  fact,  and  still  run  no  risk  of  punish- 
ment if  detected.  I  needed  a  partner  with  means, 
and  I  sought  out  the  man  who  had  taken  my  old 
sweetheart.  He  was  unscrupulous,  and  we  soon 
struck  a  bargain.  Sums  undreamed  of  a  few  years 
before  fell  into  my  hands,  and  you  will  understand 
that  in  order  to  get  this  money  I  was  allowing  my 
employers  to  lose  a  hundred  times  as  much.  I  could 
have  convicted  all  the  thieves  on  my  evidence  and 
stopped  the  fraud,  but  I  would  not.  In  fact,  the 
swindling  goes  on  even  to-day. 

"  I  told  you,  Clara,  that  I  did  not  know  the  taste  of 
honest  bread,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  me  then  that  I 
was  doing  wrong.  I  was  merely  taking  advantage  of 


l6o  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

an  opportunity.  I  was  not  a  detective,  a  spy.  What 
had  I  to  do  with  prosecuting  people  ?  All  around 
me  I  saw  men  high  in  social  position  doing  as  I  was. 
It  seemed  as  right  as  breathing. 

"  My  money  came,  and  with  it  the  desire  for  free- 
dom. The  work  at  the  office  tired  me.  I  was  on 
good  terms  with  the  officials,  and  when  I  gave  up  my 
desk  I  was  allowed  to  name  my  successor.  Through 
my  previous  knowledge,  and  the  information  which 
the  new  clerk  gave  me  from  time  to  time,  I  kept  up 
my  operations.  The  clerk  was  not  so  bright  as  he 
might  have  been,  and  never  dreamed  of  the  import- 
ance of  the  questions  which  I  used  to  put  to  him  over 
our  coffee.  One  day  a  Broadway  omnibus  ran  over 
and  killed  him.  Then  I  secured  another  for  his 
place.  A  bright,  talented  young  fellow  from  the 
country." 

"That  was  my  brother  Walter?"  cried  Clara, 
tremulously.  "  John  was  right,  then.  Oh  !  Hector, 
is  there  no  bright  spot  in  this  history  ?  Is  all  as 
black  as  the  part  you  have  related  ?" 

"  Blacker,"  he  replied.  "  The  density  of  its  dark- 
ness increases  as  we  come  nearer  and  nearer  to  this 
moment." 

"  But  you  have  had  better  thoughts,"  protested  the 
girl.  "  Your  talks  to  me  at  Springdale  ;  your  letters 
when  you  first  went  home  ;  surely  those  were 
genuine." 

Grey  burn  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  My  resolutions  have  been  good  enough,  but  the 
fates  have  drawn  me  on.  I  am  in  the  hands  of  a  re- 
sistless force  which  allows  me  no  volition.  But 
listen  !  With  plenty  of  money  and  my  time  on  my 
hands,  what  should  I  do  but  seek  for  pleasure?  I 
had  already  my  third  love,  a  girl  I  met  soon  after  se- 
curing my  clerkship.  I  got  a  fine  house  uptown,  and 
took  her  there.  Later  I  brought  home  a  young 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  l6l 

creature  whom  I  had  met  on  a  trip  into  the  country. 
Love  No.  Three  rebelled  at  the  entrance  of  Love  No. 
Four,  and  there  was  a  pretty  noise  for  a  while. 
Finally  Love  No.  Three  left  the  house  suddenly,  and 
I  never  heard  of  her  or  her  child  afterwards." 

"Her  child!" 

"  Yes,  her  child  and  mine." 

"  Oh,  Hector,  could  you  see  the  mother  of  your 
child  turned  out  into  the  world  like  that  !  A  woman 
who  had  loved  you  and  trusted  in  your  honor  !" 

"  I  did  not  know  that  she  was  going,  and  I  could  not 
tell  where  she  had  gone.  I  remember  being  angry  at 
first,  and  then  rather  glad.  Lena — that  was  her  name 
— was  not  the  sort  of  woman  I  then  liked  best.  She 
was  sweet,  trusting,  shy — not  stylish  or  showy.  She 
preferred  the  solitude  of  our  room,  when  the  baby 
and  I  were  there,  to  all  the  world.  Her  successor 
gave  me  little  opportunity  to  think  of  the  lost  one, 
and  she  soon  passed  from  my  mind.  I  can  see  this 
now  as  you  do,  and  it  seems  dreadful.  For  two 
weeks  1  have  advertised  daily  in  the  Herald  personal 
columns,  offering  a  reward  for  information  concern- 
Lena  or  the  child,  but  have  heard  nothing  ;  and  I  feel 
sure  I  never  shall." 

"  The  rest  is  a  mere  repetition  of  what  I  have  re- 
lated. The  devil  seems  to  have  taken  care  of  my 
health  remarkably  well,  probably  with  an  eye  to  his 
own  purposes." 

"  Don't,  Hector,  don't !"  said  Clara,  shuddering. 

"Well,  I  won't.  If  I  were  to  go  into  details  it 
would  last  forever.  You  know  better  than  you  did 
yesterday  what  sort  of  a  man  it  is  you  are  to  try  to 
love  and  honor.  But  good-night.  That  is  all  I  have 
to  tell  you  now." 

"You  know,"  he  said,  suddenly,  after  an  hour's 
pause,  "  that  there  is  no  barrier  between  us — that  I 
have  not  climbed  in  at  any  attic  window  this  time." 


1 62  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"  Hector,  please!"  she  murmured,  in  tones  of  entreaty. 
He  walked  the  room  in  silence  after  that  until 
morning.  At  seven  o'clock  he  rang  for  breakfast, 
which  was  brought  to  the  room  and  spread  on  one  of 
the  tables.  With  difficulty  he  persuaded  Clara  to 
touch  it.  She  had  no  heart  for  food  or  anything  else. 
Walter  !  Walter  !  was  the  only  theme  on  which  her 
mind  could  rest  for  long.  Greyburn  did  not  eat  very 
heartily.  The  desperate  game  he  was  playing  did 
not  add  to  his  appetite. 

"  I  am  going  now,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  from  his 
slight  repast.  "  I  cannot  tell  how  long  I  shall  be  ab- 
sent, but  rest  assured  I  shall  return  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  Wrll  my  brother  be  set  at  liberty  to-day  ?"  asked 
Clara,  raising  her  tired  eyes  to  his. 

"  If  my  efforts  can  accomplish  it,"  he  answered. 
"  And  if  not  to-day,  to-morrow." 

"  Can  I  see  him  as  soon  as  he  is  free  ?"  she  inquired. 
"Well — no,  hardly.     Not  just  yet.     We  must  see 
how  he  takes  our  new  relation.     All  will  come  right 
in  time." 

Proceeding  immediate!)7  to  the  residence  of  Clarence 
Perkyns,  Esq.,  Greyburn  found  that  gentleman  ready 
to  accompany  him  to  the  National  Security  Bank  and 
to  hand  over  the  amount  of  the  wager  entrusted  to 
him. 

"  Do  you  know,  old  fellow,"  said  Perkyns,  as  he 
grasped  his  companion's  arm,  "  I  couldn't  sleep  a 
wink  for  thinking  of  you?  After  your  protestations 
that  night  it  seems  impossible  to  me  that  you  could 
have  done  this.  I  know  that  fifty  thousand  dollars 
is  a  snug  sum  to  lose,  but  really,  man  of  the  world 
as  I  am,  this  looks  almost  wicked." 

Greyburn  stopped  short  in  his  walk  and  released 
himself  from  his  companion.  He  had  a  look  of  gen- 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  163 

nine  pain  in  his  countenance  and  he  spoke  impres- 
sively. 

"  Perkyns,  you  have  been  my  friend  for  years,  and 
I  ask  you  not  to  say  another  word.  Promise  that 
neither  to  me  nor  to  others  will  you  make  any  further 
reference  to  this  matter,  not  absolutely  necessary." 

"  I  promise  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Perkyns,  and  they 
resumed  their  walk. 

"  My  tongue  is  tied  now,"  added  Greyburn,  "  but 
some  time  you  will  understand  this  better.  When 
you  do,  you  may  excuse  me  or  you  may  not,  but  you 
will  see  the  matter  in  a  different  light." 

At  the  bank,  the  check  of  Mr.  Perkyns  produced 
one  hundred  one  thousand  dollar  bills  as  soon  as  pre- 
sented. Greyburn  counted  out  five  of  these  and 
offered  them  to  his  friend,  but  they  were  firmly 
though  politely  refused.  He  then  took  the  entire 
amount  and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  bade  his  companion 
adieu  and  took  a  carriage  for  the  bank  where  he 
made  his  own  deposits.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was 
closeted  with  the  affable  cashier,  Mr.  Stedman. 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  Greyburn,  when  the  door  was 
closed,  "  to  have  young  Campbell  released.  You 
understand  the  methods.  I  will  see  that  his  counsel 
applies  for  a  habeas  and  gets  him  before  a  judge.  You 
must  be  ready  to  acknowledge  satisfaction  and  with- 
draw your  charge." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Stedman.  And  with  a  little 
further  talk  in  the  same  direction  they  separated. 
Greyburn  then  wrote  the  following  missive  : 

CITY,  Aug.  24,  1 8 — . 
WALTER  CAMPBELL,  ESQ. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  I  have  succeeded  in  persuading  the 
officers  of  the  bank  that  you  are  not  legally  guilty  in 
the  case  they  have  brought  against  you.  I  shall  now 
see  that  Bird  &  Bird,  the  attorneys,  apply  for  a  habeas. 


164  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

You  must  be  ready  to  go  at  any  moment  to  court, 
where  you  will  undoubtedly  get  discharged  without 
further  delay. 

With  best  wishes,  your  friend, 

H.  G. 

Calling  a  messenger,  he  dispatched  him  to  Walter's 
residence.  Two  hours  later,  Mr.  John  Bird  came  into 
his  office,  where  Greyburn  awaited  him,  with  the 
news  that  Walter  was  free. 

"  His  first  words  after  leaving  the  court-house  were 
an  inquiry  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Bird.  "  As  you  in- 
structed me  that  he  was  not  to  see  you  on  any  ac- 
count I  gave  an  evasive  answer.  The  last  I  saw  of 
him  he  was  in  a  carriage  with  a  remarkably  handsome 
young  woman,  going  up  Broadway." 

"  Good  !"  cried  Greyburn.  "  Now  write  me  a 
letter." 

"  Write  you  ?"  exclaimed  the  lawyer. 

"  It  is  for  other  eyes,"  replied  Greyburn.  "  Just 
follow  my  dictation." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  had  in  possession  the  follow- 
ing : 

CITY,  Aug.  24,  1 8 — . 
DEAR  MR.  GREYBURN  .- 

As  you  directed,  we  applied  this  morning  to  the 
superior  court  for  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus  in  the  case 
of  the  State  of  New  York  vs.  Walter  Campbell.  The 
defendant  was  brought  as  soon  as  possible  before  the 
court,  and  we  secured  the  dismissal  of  the  court 
against  him.  Mr.  Campbell  was  set  at  liberty  and  will 
not  hear  of  the  matter  again.  Our  bill  for  service 
(one  hundred  dollars)  is  enclosed,  receipted. 
Very  truly, 

BIRD  &  BIRD,  Atty's. 

The  client  took  the  letter  and  hastily  withdrew. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  165 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AT  four  o'clock  Greyburn  knocked  at  the  door  of 
his  room  at  the  Hampden.  Almost  instantly  Clara 
opened  it. 

"My  brother?"  she  cried. 

"  Is  free,"  said  Greyburn.  Then,  seeing  that  she 
swayed  a  little  under  the  excitement,  he  assisted  her 
to  an  easy  chair. 

"  You  will  not  deceive  me,"  she  said.  "  He  is  really 
free?" 

"  Read,"  said  Greyburn,  tossing  Mr.  Bird's  letter  to 
her.  She  devoured  it  word  by  word. 

"You  are  so  good  !"  she  cried,  smiling  through  the 
tears  which  filled  her  eyes. 

"  I  ?"  he  cried,  starting.  "  Good  ?  No  act  of  mine 
should  ever  be  given  that  appellation.  Clara,  I  am  a 
villain  !" 

"  No,  no  !"  she  cried.  "  I'll  not  believe  it  !  At 
heart,  Hector,  you  are  a  noble  and  true  man." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  passionate  longing. 

"  Must  I  tell  you  ?  "  he  sighed.  "Cannot  I  let  you  go 
on  without  tearing  down  even  the  flimsy  fabric  of  re- 
spect which  you  are  trying  to  raise  about  me  ?  No,  I 
am  resolved.  You  must  hear  all," 

She  looked  up  in  helpless  amazement. 

"  Hector,  what  is  it  ?  Tell  me,  is  not  my  brother 
free?" 

"  Always  her  brother  !  "  he  murmured.  "  Never  me. 
And  never  will  be." 

"Yes,  Walter  is  free,"  he  said,  "  but  that  is  a  slight 
thing  compared  with  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  Have 


1 66  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

you  the  strength  to  listen  to  a  story,  worse — far  worse 
— than  anything  I  detailed  to  you  last  night?" 

The  girl  roused  herself  and  put  on  a  look  of  deter- 
mination. 

"  I  will  hear  anything— everything1,"  she  said.  "I 
can  and  will  endure  it.  Whatever  it  is,  the  uncer- 
tainty is  worse." 

"  I  am  not  like  a  prisoner  who  confesses  under  the 
hope  of  pardon,"  said  he.  "You  will  never  forgive 
me  when  you  know  all.  But  even  if  it  robs  me  of 
everything  I  have  hoped  and  prayed  for,  I  will  con- 
fess. 

"  When  I  first  found  that  I  loved  you,  Clara,  I  could 
not  understand  the  feeling.  I  had  thought  I  loved  a 
hundred  times  before,  but  this  was  not  like  the  sen- 
timents I  remembered.  I  conceived  a  reverence  for 
you,  almost  a  fear.  In  your  presence  I  was  happy, 
out  of  it  inconsolably  miserable.  When  you  came  in- 
to my  life  you  made  all  the  rest  of  it  seem  hateful. 
At  last  I  revealed  my  heart  to  you.  I  told  you  how 
perfectly  unworthy  I  was  of  your  love,  and  you,  like 
an  angel,  counseled  me  to  make  myself  better.  I  re- 
solved to  do  so,  but  it  was  a  new  experience,  and 
though  I  tried  hard  I  succeeded  badly.  I  gave  up 
my  house  and  companions,  but  just  when  I  was  ap- 
parently the  most  determined  to  reform,  I  made  the 
worst  step  of  all.  Of  that  I  will  tell  you  later  on. 

"  For  two  months  I  wandered  over  the  country,  until 
I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  must  see  you.  I  must 
have  an  errand  sufficiently  important  to  obtain  me  an 
audience.  I  returned  to  New  York  and  procured  the 
arrest  of  your  brother— Clara  !  don't  look  at  me  like 
that  ?" 

"  Go  on  !"  she  said,  breathlessly.  "  Walter  was  not 
jruilty,  then  ?' 

"  Yes,  he  was  guilty.  Let  me  have  that  to  ex- 
tenuate my  fault,  if  it  is  worth  anything.  He  did 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  1 67 

forge  checks  for  some  three  thousand  dollars  and  get 
the  money  at  my  bank,  while  I  was  in  Springdale,  in 
June.  I  should  not  have  prosecuted  him,  however, 
except  as  a  means  of  obtaining  you.  It  was  the 
remedy  of  a  wicked  and  desperate  man. 

"  I  got  the  bank  officers  to  procure  his  arrest,  and 
arranged  it  so  that  he  could  stay  in  his  own  room, 
guarded  by  a  sheriff.  I  have  kept  the  affair  carefully 
out  of  the  newspapers,  and,  so  far  as  Walter  is  con- 
cerned, he  goes  back  to  his  desk  at  City  Hall  no  worse 
for  his  brief  vacation,  and  perhaps  even  better  for  the 
lesson  it  gives  him." 

"And  I  came  here  and  married  you  to  save  him 
from  the  net  which  you  yourself  had  set  ?"  said  Clara, 
her  voice  trembling. 

"  Show  me  some  pity  !"  he  replied.  "  Remember 
that  all  there  is  wrong  in  this  I  have  freely  confessed 
to  you.  Had  I— could  I  have — sealed  my  tongue,  you 
would  never  have  known." 

"  Hector  Greyburn,"  said  Clara,  shaking  her  head 
sadly,  "  you  are  indeed  a  terrible  man.  I  believe  in  a 
merciful  God,  who  overrules  all  human  affairs  for  our 
best  good.  If  I  did  not,  it  seems  as  though  my  reason 
would  fail  me.  Perhaps  Heaven  has  some  great  work 
for  us  to  do  and  is  preparing  us  for  it  by  a  trial  of 
fire." 

Greyburn  eyed  her  with  the  old,  passionate  longing 
as  she  spoke. 

"  Do  you  hate  me  ?"  he  said. 

"  Hate  you,  no.  In  spite  of  all,  you  are  my  hus- 
band." 

"And  if  I  were  not  !"  he  cried.  "If  by  some 
magic  power  our  union  were  dissolved — if  it  could  be 
that  we  had  never  been  married — would  you  wed  me 
after  this  ?  Would  you  not  thank  God  for  your  re- 
lease." 


1 68  THOU   SHALT  NOf. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "  There 
is  something  in  your  words  which  frightens  me." 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  freed  from  the  bonds  which 
hold  us  together?  Tell  me  that,  before  I  say  more." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?"  she  replied,  evasively. 

"  Because,"  he  said,  "  a  pistol,  a  rope,  a  jump  from 
a  steamer " 

"  Hush  !"  cried  Clara,  with  horror  in  her  tones. 
"  That  would  be  awful  !  Think  of  rushing  in  your 
state  into  the  presence  of  your  Maker  !" 

"  Then  you  do  not  wish  I  were  dead  ?" 

"  No  !  No  !"  she  cried,  making  a  gesture  to  stop 
him. 

"  But  you  do  wish — be  honest  with  me  now — that 
you  were  not  my  wife  ?" 

"  Again  I  say,"  she  answered,  "  why  do  you  ask  me 
that  ?" 

"  Because,"  he  said,  his  face  turning  the  hue  of 
ashes,  "  you  can  find  release  at  any  moment  if  you 
seek  it." 

"  How  ?"     She  said  it  almost  with  a  shriek. 

"  By  walking  out  of  that  door  and  taking  the  next 
train  for  Springdale." 

"  But  I  should  still  be  your  wife,"  she  faltered. 
"  Separate  living  would  not  sever  the  tie." 

"  You  do  not  understand,  Clara.  You  can  go  when 
and  where  you  please  and  I  cannot  follow  you.  The 
ceremony  was  a  sham.  The  clergyman  was  a  myth. 
We  are  not  married  at  all." 

She  looked  then  as  if  in  doubt  of  her  own  sanity. 
It  was  more  than  she  could  comprehend. 

"  It  is  my  last  confession,"  he  stammered,  "  and,  as 
I  told  you,  the  worst.  Are  you  glad  or  sorry  ?" 

She  was  too  dazed  to  reply.  Her  strength  seemed 
hardly  greater  than  an  infant's. 

"You  desire  it  explained,"  said  Greyburn,  seeing 
the  wish  in  her  face.  "  You  came  here  with  me  last 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  jgg 

evening.  Your  outer  garments,  your  bonnet,  were  not 
removed,  your  gloves  are  still  on  your  hands.  Give 
me  at  least  this  credit,  you  are  not  dishonored." 

"  But  why  am  I  here  ?"  she  gasped. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all,"  he  said.  "  A  combination  of 
men  who  had  cause  to  be  my  friends,  led  by  one 
whom  I  had  helped  to  many  thousands  of  dollars,  set 
a  trap  for  my  financial  ruin.  At  table  with  a  crowd 
of  men  as  foolish  as  myself,  I  had  offered  to  wager 
any  amount  that  no  one  present  could  name  a  girl 
whom  I  could  not  betray.  After  I  left  you  in  June  I 
resolved  to  have  a  farewell  dinner  with  my  old  com- 
panions and  advise  them  of  the  fact  that  they  would 
see  me  no  more.  At  that  dinner  I  was  artfully  drawn 
into  making  a  bet  in  the  way  I  have  described, 
through  appeals  to  my  pride  and  ideas  of  honor. 
When  I  agreed  to  make  the  wager  I  supposed  the 
sum  would  be  small  and  the  person  named  some 
woman  unknown  to  me,  and  I  secretly  resolved  to  for- 
feit the  stakes  without  a  contest.  But  when  my 
friends  proposed  fifty  thousand  dollars  as  the  sum 
each  should  deposit,  and  I  saw  that  there  was  a  plot 
to  swindle  me  out  of  the  greater  part  of  all  I  had  in 
the  world,  the  devil  in  me  came  to  the  surface  and  I 
determined  that  they  should  not  succeed. 

"  I  signed  the  bond  and  put  up  the  money  before  I 
learned  the  name  of  the  woman  I  was  to  ruin.  Judge 
of  my  horror  when  I  found  that  the  blank  space  con- 
tained your  name.  But  my  blood  was  up.  The  ref- 
eree had  my  money  and  I  determined  to  get  it  again. 
This  morning  he  paid  me  the  amount." 

"And  my  name,"  cried  Clara,  indignantly,  "my 
name,  which  you  profess  to  love  so  much,  has  been 
bandied  about  among  )Tonr  friends  like  that  of  the 
lowest  common  creature  who  walks  the  streets  ! 
Men  know  that  I  have  passed  the  night  here  with 
you  and  we  unmarried.  I  will  stay  to  hear  no  more. 


I/O  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

I  never  wish  to  see  or  hear  of  you  again.  I  did  have 
a  regard  for  you  and  I  pitied  you  even  in  the  midst 
of  your  crimes,  but  that  is  ended.  For  your  wicked- 
ness toward  me,  may  God  forgive  you." 

She  started  for  the  door,  but  he  placed  himself  be- 
fore it. 

"Let  me  pass  /" 

"  Clara,"  he  said,  softly,  "  listen  to  me  a  little  longer 
and  then  you  shall  pass  if  you  wish.  I  will  enter  no 
plea  for  myself,  for  that  would  be  useless.  Now  you 
must  think  of  your&clj "." 

"  Myself  ?"  she  repeated,  vaguely. 

"  Yes,  yourself.  If  you  go  from  that  door,  what 
next  ?  To  Springdale  ?  What  then  ?  Back  to  your 
old  life  ?  Impossible  !  You  have  left  all  that  behind 
you.  Last  night,  in  the  presence  of  that  God  in 
whom  you  believe,  you  vowed  your  life  to  me.  True, 
the  man  who  asked  you  those  questions  had  no  legal 
right  to  marry  us,  but  was  not  the  ceremony  binding 
nevertheless  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  ?" 

"God  will  not  ask  me  to  carry  out  a  fraud,"  said 
Clara.  "  He  will  know  how  honest  was  my  purpose 
and  how  basely  I  was  betrayed." 

"  But  think,"  continued  Greybarn.  "  There  are 
people  who  know  you  have  been  here  and  with  me. 
More  will  inevitably  learn  of  it,  and  when  Springdale 
hears  the  story  you  can  no  longer  live  happily  within 
its  borders.  My  reputation  will  be  enough  to  ruin 
yours  wherever  our  names  are  coupled  together  in 
that  way.  Clara,  it  is  a  very  serions  thing.  It  is  too 
late  to  turn  back  now.  You  could  not  leave  me  if 
you  would." 

She  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment  and  then  recoiled 
as  if  stung  by  a  serpent. 

"  What  would  you  have  of  me  ?  Must  I  become 
the  very  lowest  of  human  creatures  to  avoid  being 
thought  one?  Never.'" 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  I /I 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said,  in  the  same  soft  tones, 
though  with  an  added  sadness.  "  What  I  now  pro- 
pose to  you  is  an  honorable  marriage.  I  have  injured 
you  all  I  ever  can,  and  I  ask  leave  to  make  a  slight 
reparation." 

"  It  is  some  new  deceit,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  will  not 
trust  you." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,"  he  replied,  "  but  you  shall 
'  make  assurance  doubly  sure '  next  time.  Do  you 
know  a  single  clergyman  whom  you  would  trust,  who 
could  be  sent  for  ?" 

"  I  know  one,"  she  replied.  "  He  and  my  poor  papa 
were  old  friends." 

"Clara,  will  you  marry  me?  I  have  bared  my 
heart  to  you  as  I  never  did  to  another.  I  love  you 
with  all  my  soul." 

"  Let  me  think.  Give  me  a  little  time  for  consid- 
eration. Whichever  way  I  turn  I  can  see  no  light. 
Oh,  Hector  Greyburn,  how  much  evil  one  man  can 
accomplish  !" 

She  sat  down  and  cried  a  little  to  herself.  Grey- 
burn  paced  the  room  like  a  convict  waiting  to  hear 
whether  his  doom  is  to  be  death  or  pardon.  At  last 
she  lifted  her  head. 

He  paused  before  her  chair. 

"  Hector,  I  will  marry  you.  There  is  no  other  way. 
Become  as  good  a  man  as  you  are  capable  of  being, 
and  I  will  learn  to  honor,  perhaps  even  to  love  you." 

He  knelt  at  her  feet,  but  she  raised  him  up. 

"  Not  to  me,  Hector,  not  to  me.  Kneel  to  God,  who 
alone  deserves  our  adoration." 

"  I  kneel  to  Him  when  I  kneel  to  you,"  he  said, 
with  profound  reverence.  "  For  if  ever  He  makes 
Himself  incarnate  it  is  in  such  creatures  as  you  are." 

She  chid  him  gently. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  a  gentleman  and  lady 
rode  out  of  the  Jersey  City  station  toward  the  west, 


1 72  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

in  one  of  the  compartments  of  a.  Pullman  car.  The 
conductor  remarked  to  the  porter  that  they  were  the 
strangest  couple  he  had  seen  for  a  long  time. 

"  There  they  sit  like  they  was  no  relation  at  all,  and 
as  though  there  was  a  funeral  going  on,"  he  remarked. 
''  But  I'd  bet  they're  new-married,  just  the  same." 

The  next  morning  the  papers  had  this  announce- 
ment, under  the  head  of  "  Marriages  :" 

GREYBURN— CAMPBELL.— 26th  inst.,  at  the 
residence  of  the  Rev.  Stephen  Marsden,  in  Brook- 
lyn, Hector  Greyburn,  Esq.,  of  New  York  city,  and 
Clara,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Rev.  Duncan  Camp- 
bell, of  Springdale,  Conn. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  appearance  of  Greyburn's  marriage  in  the 
morning  papers  caused  a  wide  sensation.  He  was 
known  very  well,  and  his  escapades  had  been  the 
theme  of  conversation  at  many  clubs. 

One  of  the  first  to  have  the  paragraph  called  to  his 
attention  was  Mr.  Jacob  Mendall.  A  friend  dropped 
in  upon  him  while  still  at  breakfast  and  pointed  out 
the  announcement.  Mr.  Mendall  was  shaken  for  the 
moment  from  his  accustomed  serenity.  He  rose 
hastily,  leaving  the  viands  untouched,  and  summon- 
ing a  carriage  directed  the  driver  to  take  him  with  all 
speed  to  the  residence  of  Clarence  Perkyns,  Esq. 

"  Mr.  Perkyns,"  he  began,  as  soon  as  that  gentle- 
man came  into  his  presence,  "  have  you  seen  Mr. 
Greyburn  lately  ?  Ah  !  yon  have,"  he  added,  receiv- 
ing a  bow  of  assent.  "Well,  do  you  know  about  this 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  173 

paragraph  in  the  morning  paper — his  marriage  with 
Miss  Campbell  ?" 

"With  Miss  Campbell— Miss  Clara  Campbell?"  re- 
sponded Perkyns,  in  undisguised  astonishment. 

"  The  same,"  said  Mr.  Mendall,  as  he  read  with  a 
shaking  voice  the  announcement  from  the  paper  which 
he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  I  am  much  astonished,"  responded  Mr.  Perkyns. 
"This  is  the  first  intimation  I  have  had  of  such  an  in- 
tention on  his  part." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Mendall,  coming  in  haste  to  the 
main  object  of  his  questionings,  "  what  about  the 
money — the  wager,  you  know — which  he  made  with 
Middleby  ?  Has  he — have  you  the  money.  You 
haven't  paid  it  over  ?" 

"  Why,  certainly  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Perkyns.  "  He 
drew  the  whole  amount  yesterday  morning,  after 
proving  to  me  that  he  was  entitled  to  it  under  the 
terms  of  the  contract." 

"  It  was  this  same  Miss  Campbell  who  was  named  !" 
raved  Mendall. 

"  To  be  sure.  I  don't  know  how  you  found  it 
out,  but  you've  guessed  rightly." 

"  And  he's  got  the  money  ?" 

"  Every  dollar." 

"  But  it's  a  swindle,  a  clear  fraud  !"  cried  the  banker. 
"The  wager  did  not  provide  for  a  Mrs.  Greyburn.  It 
said  'Miss  Clara  Campbell.'  After  her  marriage  she 
was  no  longer  the  party  named  in  the  paper.  You 
should  have  taken  pains  not  to  be  duped." 

"  That  is  between  myself  and  Mr.  Middleby,"  re- 
plied Perkyns,  bridling.  He  took  up  the  newspaper. 
"You  will  see,"  he  added,  "if  you  look  at  this,  that 
they  were  not  married  till  yesterday,  the  26th.  It  was 
the  day  before — the  night  of  the  25th — that  they 
passed  together  with  my  knowledge.  They  had 
rooms  at  the  Hampden." 


1/4  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  Then  it  was  under  promise  of  marriage,"  saidMen- 
dall.  It  was  a  cheat,  any  way  you  fix  it.  There 
should  be  some  honor  in  a  bet  made  between  gentle- 
men." 

"  It  is  my  opinion  that  there  was  not  much  honor 
in  the  whole  transaction,"  said  Mr.  Perkyns,  boldly. 
"  The  most  honorable  thing  done  yet  is  this  mar- 
riage. I  wouldn't  take  part  in  another  such  affair 
for  the  whole  amount  of  the  stakes.  Honor,  indeed  !" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ?"  asked  Mendall, 
savagely. 

"  I  fail  to  understand  'your  question,"  responded 
Mr.  Perkyns.  "  The  only  parties  to  this  affair  whom 
I  know  are  Messrs.  Hector  Greyburn  and  Otis  W. 
Middleby.  What  is  your  interest  in  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  greater  than  you  know,"  said  Mendall, 
driven  out  of  his  senses  by  the  discoveries  he  was 
making.  "  Let  me  give  you  one  piece  of  advice, 
Don't  let  Walter  Campbell  know  that  you  are  con- 
cerned in  this.  He'd  as  lief  kill  you  as  eat  his 
supper." 

"  Walter  ?"  ejaculated  Mr.  Perkyns.  "  Why,  the 
young  woman  is  no  relation  of  his,  is  she  !" 

"  Only  his  sister  !"  Mendall  said,  with  ill-suppressed 
fury." 

"  Surely  you  jest,"  said  Perkyns,  recoiling.  "  His 
name  was  down  as  a  witness." 

"  Certainly  !"  raved  Mendall.  "  He  didn't  know 
whom  we  were  betting  on." 

"  Whom  we  were  betting  on  !"  repeated  Perkyns. 
"  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Mendall,  that  it  \syou  who  had 
best  look  out.  1  was  perfectly  innocent  in  the  matter. 
This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  imagined  that  Walter  was 
related  to  the  party  upon  whom  you  and  your  friend 
were  betting.  You  knew  it  all  the  time,  it  seems." 

"  It  matters  little  what  I  knew  or  didn't  know," 
snarled  Mendall,  taking  up  his  hat  to  depart.  "  The 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  1/5 

money  is  lost,  that's  the  main  point."  He  strolled 
moodily  out  of  doors  and  took  his  carriage  for  down- 
town. His  next  act  was  to  send  the  following  letter  : 

To  OTIS  W.  MIDDLEBY, 

Care  Baring  Bros.,  London,  Eng  : 
Don't  think  of  starting  home  until  you  hear  again 
from  me.  Greyburn  has  got  the  money  from  Perkyns 
and  has  married  and  gone  away  with  Miss  C.  lex-, 
pect  Walter  will  be  raving  and  that  the  deuce  will  be 
to  pay  everywhere.  Will  send  you  word  as  fast  as 
things  develop. 

In  haste, 

JACOB  MENDALL. 

Another  man  to  see  the  marriage  notice  early  in 
the  day  was  John  Dinsmore.  Taking  his  frugal 
breakfast  at  a  cheap  restaurant  in  the  Bowery  his  eye 
fell  accidentally  upon  the  paragraph  in  the  newspa- 
per which  the  waiter  handed  him.  He  put  down  his 
knife  and  fork  with  a  noise  which  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  every  one  in  the  room  and  rose  from  his  seat 
like  a  madman. 

"Whar's  that  place,  the  house  whar  that  minister 
lives  ?"  he  shouted  to  everybody  in  general,  flourishing 
the  newspaper.  "  For  God's  sake,  gentlemen,  some  of 
you  show  me  the  way  thar  !" 

The  patrons  of  the  place,  as  well  as  the  waiters  and 
proprietor,  shrank  away  from  him.  In  the  intensity 
of  his  feeling  he  had  every  symptom  of  being  de- 
ranged. A  policeman  was  called  in  and  before  the 
blacksmith  knew  it,  the  officer's  hand  was  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  My  man,  come  with  me." 

Dinsmore  looked  at  him  and  then  at  the  frightened 
faces  around  the  room. 

"  Don't  stop  me  !"  he  cried.     "  I  fear  thar's  been 


176  THOU    SHALT  NOT, 

wrong  committed.  A  minute's  delay  may  make  it  too 
late.  Whar  does  this  Mr.  Marsden  live  ?  See,  in 
the  marriage  notices  !  I'm  afeard,  sir,  thar's  been 
fraud  practiced." 

The  officer  looked  at  the  paper. 

"  That's  all  right  enough,"  he  said.  "What  are  you 
making  such  a  blessed  row  about  ?  Greyburn-Camp- 
bell.  I  know  the  man.  Hasn't  he  got  a  right  to  get 
married  if  he  wants  to  ?" 

"But  if  thar's  deception  !"  cried  Dinsmore.  "If 
this  item  ain't  right  an'  the  girl's  been  deceived  !  I 
must  go  to  Mr.  Marsden  at  once  and  see  what  he 
says.  If  it's  a  fraud  the  harm  may  be  prevented.  If 
it's  a  real  marriage,  all  I  say  is,  God  pity  her  !" 

There  seemed  no  reason  to  stop  the  man,  and  the 
policeman  directed  him  as  well  as  he  was  able  how  to 
find  Brooklyn  and  Mr.  Marsden's  residence.  Arriv- 
ing there,  he  learned  from  the  lips  of  the  reverend 
gentleman  himself  that  the  marriage  in  question  was 
a  legal  one,  and  his  last  hope  was  dashed  to  the 
ground. 

Returning  to  New  York,  he  was  walking  up  from 
the  ferry,  when  an  elderly  man  accosted  him. 

"  Are  you  the  man  who  was  inquiring  the  way  to 
Rev.  Mr.  Marsden's  ?" 

"  I  am,"  replied  Dinsmore,  somewhat  astonished. 
"  How  did  ye  know  that  ?" 

"  An  officer  who  directed  you  gave  me  your  descrip- 
tion. I  will  tell  you  something  about  that  matter 
that  will  interest  you  if  you  will  meet  me  at  five 
o'clock  at  the  Astor  House." 

"  I'll  come,"  said  Dinsmore.  "  Whar  shall  I  find 
ye  ?" 

"  Go  to  parlor  B.  I  shall  be  there  before  you, 
probably.  If  not,  wait  till  I  come." 

When  the  blacksmith  arrived  at  the  Astor  House 
he  found  Mr.  Mendall  awaiting  him."  - 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  1 77 

"Your  name,"  said  Mendall,  handing  him  a  chair, 
"  is  John  Dinsmore." 

"  The  policeman  didn't  tell  ye  that,"  said  the  black- 
smith, quickly,  "  but  I  don't  dispute  ye.  My  name's 
an  honest  one,  an'  I  never  yet  hesitated  to  own  it." 

"  You  know  Hector  Greyburn,"  pursued  Mr.  Men- 
dall. Seeing  the  look  of  hate  which  came  into  his  com- 
panion's face  he  added,  "  and  you  do  not  like  him." 

The  blacksmith  looked  at  Mr.  Mendall  for  a  second. 

"You're  right  again,  stranger.  I  don't  like  him. 
I  never  did  from  the  first  minute  I  saw  him.  Less 
than  ever  do  I  like  him  this  mornin'." 

"You  also  know  the  girl  he  has  married,"  said 
Mendall,  "Miss  Campbell." 

Dinsmore's  eyes  flashed. 

"Wait,  now  !"  said  he.  "What  gives  ye  the  right 
to  pronounce  her  name  ?  Who  are  ye  and  what  are 
ye  comin'  at  ?" 

"  Can  I  trust  you  never  to  mention  me  in  connec- 
tion with  what  I  am  going  to  say  ?"  asked  the  careful 
banker.  "  Swear  that,  and  I  will  tell  you  why  I  asked 
you  to  meet  me  here.' 

"  I  swear,"  said  Dinsmore.  "  But  be  careful.  The 
name  o'  that  lady  is  sacred  to  me." 

"I  shall  not  offend  you,"  said  Mendall,  "unless  it 
be  by  speaking  unpleasant  truths.  First,  let  me  ask 
you  another  question  or  two.  How  long  have  you 
known  these  people  ?" 

"  Miss  Clara  from  a  baby  up.  The  man  fer  a  year 
or  two." 

"  Are  they  legally  married  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Marsden  says  so." 

"  Had  they  not  been,  what  would  have  been  your 
next  course  ?" 

Dinsmore  had  risen  in  his  impatience  and  com- 
menced to  pace  the  floor. 

"  Had  he  betrayed  an'  disgraced  her,  do  ye  mean  ?" 


1 78  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

he  said.  "  Why,  I'd  'a'  follered  him  to  the  end  o'  the 
earth  but  what  I'd  'a'  had  his  heart's  blood." 

Even  Mendall  in  his  revengeful  mood  quailed  a 
little  before  the  fiery  temper  of  the  man. 

"  I  could  tell  you  something,  but  you  are  too  ex- 
cited. You  would  act  rashly." 

"  About  Miss  Clara  ?"  demanded  Dinsmore,  stopping 
short  in  his  walk. 

"  About  Greyburn's  treatment  of  her." 

l<  Tell  me  !"  cried  the  blacksmith.  "I'll  be  calm  as 
I  can.  If  ye  know  anythin',  tell  me." 

He  seated  himself  at  the  opposite  side  of  a  table 
which  stood  in  front  of  Mendall's  chair,  and  clasped  his 
hands  nervously  over  the  marble. 

"  Hear  me,  then,"  said  the  banker,  "  but  at  the  first 
intimation  that  you  are  getting  excited  I  shall  stop. 
You  need  a  cool  head  at  this  time." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Dinsmore,  striving  to  master  his  emo- 
tion. 

"  Two  months  ago,"  said  Mendall,  "  this  man 
Greyburn  met  with  a  party  of  friends  at  dinner. 
Over  their  wine  one  of  them  offered  him  a  bet  of  a 
large  sum  of  money  that  a  certain  lady  could  be 
named,  whom  Greyburn  could  not  bend  to  his  will 
within  a  given  time.  Greyburn  took  the  wager  and 
the  stakes  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  referee.  The 
name  of  the  lady  was " 

"  No,  no  !"  cried  Dinsmore.     "  Not  her  !  not  her  !" 

"  The  same." 

"  Before  a  crowd  o'  men  !     Impossible  !" 

"  Hear  me  out,"  said  Mendall.  "  Last  Tuesday 
Greyburn  went  to  the  referee  and  said  that  he  should 
demand  the  money  the  next  morning.  He  proved 
that  he  had  the  lady  at  the  hotel  Hampden." 

"  But  they  were  married  !"  said  Dinsmore,  his  lips 
blanching. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied   Mendall.     "  That   was  Tues- 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  1/9 

day.  They  remained  there  that  night  and  were  not 
married  till  twenty-four  hours  later.  To  win  the  bet 
he  must  remain  with  her  when  she  was  '  Miss '  and 
not '  Mrs.'  Do  you  see  how  cunning  he  was  ?" 

"  I  see,"  repeated  Dinsmore,  like  one  waking  from 
a  hideous  nightmare. 

"  In  all  the  clubs  of  this  city,"  said  Mendall,  mark- 
ing the  terrible  effect  his  story  was  having,  "  they 
are  discussing  what  I  am  telling  you.  The  name  of 
Miss  Campbell  is  a  theme  for  laughter.  Her  subse- 
quent marriage  will  not  wash  out  the  stain  on  her 
fame.  Wherever  she  goes  the  story  will  follow  her." 

"  Say  no  more  !"  cried  Dinsmore,  in  a  passion.  "  Let 
me  out  into  the  air  or  I  shall  stifle  !" 

"  And  whence  go  you  ?"  inquired  Mendall. 

"  First,  to  see  her  brother  Walter.  We'll  go  to- 
gether to  find  this  man,  an'  when  we  do  find  him,  let 
him  beware." 

"  I  would  not  go  near  Walter  were  I  in  your  place," 
said  Mendall,  in  a  meaning  tone. 

"  Why  not  ?"  cried  Dinsmore.  "  Who  should  re- 
venge a  sister  if  not  her  brother  ?" 

"  Not  in  this  case.  He  cannot  aid  you.  He  made 
one  of  the  dinner  party  where  the  wager  was  made. 
His  name  is  signed  as  one  of  the  witnesses  to  the 
compact." 

"  Walter's  name  signed  to  the  paper  which  makes 
his  sister's  shame  !"  cried  the  blacksmith.  "  That's 
too  much  to  believe.  Prove  it  to  me  if  you  can  !" 

"  I  could  prove  it  easily  enough  if  necessary,  but  it 
would  take  time.  What  motive  could  I  have  to  de- 
ceive you  ?  It  is  signed  there,  I  pledge  you  my  word. 
So  you  see  he  is  the  last  person  you  ought  to  go  to 
now." 

"Then  I  will  hunt  for  the  villain  alone,"  said  Dins- 
more.  "  Do  you  know  whar  he's  gone  ?" 

"  He  left  the  Jersey  City  station  on  a  Pennsylvania 


180  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

train  at  eleven  last  evening  with  tickets  for  Cleve- 
land. Beyond  that  I  know  nothing,  but  you  could 
trace  him.  Or,  if  you  are  in  no  hurry,  you  can  wait 
for  a  few  months,  when  he  will  probably  return  from 
his  bridal  trip  and  boast  over  the  achievement." 

"  I  shall  start  to-night,"  said  Dinsmore.  "  I'm  all 
in  a  fever.  I  can't  rest  until  I'm  going  toward  him. 
Let  him  travel  whar  he  likes,  I'll  find  him.  Fur  or 
near,  I'll  come  upon  his  trail  at  last." 

"  Do  you  need  any  money  for  traveling  expenses  ?" 

"  Not  a  penny.  I've  enough  to  go  round  the  globe 
if  need  be.  Do  you  see  these  hands  ?  They're  not 
hansum,  not  the  hands  of  a  gentleman,  but  they've 
earned  many  an  honest  dollar,  and  I'm  willin'  to 
spend  every  one.  Poor  little  Clara  !  No  one  can  un- 
do the  ong  that's  done  ye,  but  some  one  can  see 
that  it's  avenged." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  more  to  himself  than 
Mendall. 

The  eleven  o'clock  train  on  Wednesday  night  bore 
out  of  the  Jersey  City  station  a  newly-made  bride- 
groom. The  eleven  o'clock  train  on  Thursday  night 
bore  after  him  a  would-be  assassin,  eager  for  his 
death. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN  a  little  hamlet  of  northern  Georgia,  Hector 
Greyburn  and  his  wife  passed  those  few  weeks  after 
marriage  usually  called  the  honeymoon.  With  the 
design  of  keeping  their  whereabouts  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  possible  pursuers,  he  had  bought  tickets  for 
Cleveland,  and  then  left  the  train  at  Philadelphia  and 
crossed  by  a  circuitous  route  into  the  southern  states. 


•THOU   SHALT  NOT.  l8t 

He  was  without  definite  plans  for  the  future,  but  at 
present  he  wanted  no  intrusion,  and  it  seemed  very 
unlikely  that  any  one  would  trace  him  to  this  un- 
frequented section. 

He  was  not  happy.  What  was  the  trouble  ?  The 
dream  of  his  life  was  realized  ;  the  woman  he  loved 
was  securely  in  his  possession  ;  but  nevertheless,  a 
sense  of  uneasiness  penetrated  his  heart,  and  he  be- 
gan to  question  whether  the  result  he  had  achieved 
was  worth  what  it  had  cost  to  obtain. 

Sweet  little  Clara  obeyed  his  every  suggestion 
without  a  word.  He  had  respected  her  scruples  in 
all  things,  resolving  that  he  would  try  to  win  her  re- 
gard ere  he  sought  to  gain  her  love.  But  something 
was  lacking  everywhere. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  one  morning,  as  he  met  her 
coming  from  her  chamber,  "  shall  we  take  a  walk  up 
the  hills  yonder  ?  The  landlord  says  the  scenery  is 
something  remarkable  from  the  summit  of  the  cliff." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  ready  with  hat  and  sun- 
shade to  take  the  arm  he  offered  her. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  rather  not  go,"  he  said,  paus- 
ing, "  or  would  rather  wait  until  another  time." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  Clara  responded.  It  was  al- 
ways left  to  him.  She  seemed  to  have  no  desire  nor 
opinion  of  her  own  now. 

"  Isn't  this  grand  !"  he  exclaimed,  a  half  hour  later, 
as  they  stood  gazing  down  the  long  line  of  the  valley, 
bathed  in  the  brightness  of  the  morning  sun.  "  Look 
at  the  river  there  in  the  distance  !  See  the  farms 
with  their  regular  lines  of  varying  color  !  Is  it  not 
worth  the  climb  ! 

"  It  is  very  beautiful,"  she  said,  but  it  sounded  like 
an  echo  of  his  own  words. 

Another  day  they  took  a  long  drive  among  the 
hills,  stopping  for  dinner  at  a  quaint  old  farmhouse 
filled  with  antique  furniture.  Whatever  Hector 


1 82  THOU  SHALT  NOT. 

noticed  Clara  saw  too.  Whatever  he  did  not  see  es- 
caped her  observation.  He  tried  it  over  and  over 
and  the  result  was  always  the  same. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  as  they  were  driving  slowly 
along  the  homeward  road,  "  you  are  getting  tired  of 
Georgia.  I  should  not  have  brought  you  here.  The 
city  is  a  better  place  for  you,  where  there  is  some 
variation  in  the  sights.  These  hills,  valleys,  rivers 
and  sunsets  tire  one  after  the  first  few  days.  Where 
would  you  like  to  go  ?  Name  the  place,  and,  whether 
it  be  on  this  continent  or  the  other,  we  will  hasten 
there  at  once." 

"  I  am  quite  content  here,"  she  responded,  but  her 
voice  did  not  endorse  the  assertion. 

Greyburn  gave  a  despairing  cry. 

"As  well  here  as  elsewhere,  you  would  say,"  he 
said.  "  I  can  never  make  you  happy — never  !  never  !" 

Clara  looked  at  him  and  a  sob  rose  in  her  throat. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  me,"  she  ventured. 

"  Because  I  repress  the  manifestations  of  my  love," 
he  said.  "  Because  I  forget  that  you  are  my  wife  and 
treat  you  as  if  you  were  my  companion  merely,  my 
sister.  Let  me  assert  my  rights,  let  me  even  demand 
a  lover's  kiss,  and  you  would  shrink  from  me  with 
horror." 

"  Don't,  Hector,  don't  !"  she  exclaimed.  But  he 
went  on  : 

"  To  gain  you  I  have  ventured  everything,  and  now 
that  I  have  you,  I  have  not  your  love.  I  never  can 
have  it.  I  mig*ht  have  known  better.  How  could  a 
pure,  innocent  girl  love  a  man  whose  whole  life  has 
been  contrary  to  her  convictions  of  right,  one  who 
has  gained  her  by  the  basest  of  fabrications  ?  I  will 
not  keep  up  this  sham  any  longer.  We  must  separate. 
You  to  go  to  some  place  where  you  can  live  as  you 
have  always  done,  and  I,  Heaven  knows  where  !  to 
live  and  die  as  I  began." 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  183 

The  tears  flowed  down  the  girl's  cheeks  as  she 
listened  to  this  declaration,  made  with  such  evident 
earnestness,  and  her  active  conscience  dictated  her 
answer. 

"  No,  Hector,  we  cannot  separate.  We  must  not 
think  of  it.  '  Whom  God  hath  joined,'  you  know.  In 
a  few  weeks  I  shall  feel  better.  I  confess  I  have  been 
affected  by  the  strange  combination  of  circumstances 
which  has  brought  me  to  this  spot,  but  I  shall  soon 
become  used  to  my  changed  life.  Somewhere  in  the 
future  there  must  be  happiness  for  us  yet." 

He  threw  his  arms  impulsively  around  her  and 
was  about  to  imprint  a  kiss  upon  her  lips  when  an 
indefinable  something  told  him  that  she  shrank  from 
the  ordeal.  He  withdrew  his  clasp  and,  gathering 
up  the  reins,  drove  at  increased  speed  down  the 
mountain  road,  his  brow  darkening  more  and  more 
as  they  proceeded.  Clara,  who  knew  all  that  was 
passing  in  his  mind,  felt  herself  powerless  to  say  any- 
thing to  relieve  him.  Within  a  mile  of  their  destin- 
ation he  checked  the  horse  suddenly  and  spoke  again  : 

"  I  have  decided.  There  is  no  help  for  it.  I  realize 
all  that  you  would  say.  You  feel  that  you  have  a 
duty  to  perform  toward  me.  I  release  you  from  it. 
You  think  that  you  ought  to  try  and  save  me  from 
evil  courses.  Had  you  loved  me  with  all  your  heart 
and  soul  you  might  have  done  even  that,  though  I 
cannot  tell.  You  will  never  be  happy  as  my  wife, 
and  I  will  not  consent  to  make  you  more  miserable 
than  need  be.  For  the  injury  I  have  already  done 
you,  forgive  me  if  you  can,  but  in  the  future  we  must 
be  strangers  to  each  other." 

"  No,  no !"  cried  Clara,  with  a  feeling  of  desolation 
creeping  over  her  heart.  l<  Not  so  suddenly.  Think 
of  it  longer." 

"  What  need,"  he  asked,  ''when  after  a  fortnight's 
marriage  1  cannot  even  offer  you  a  kiss  without  your 


1 84  THOU  SHALT  NOT. 

repugnance  making  itself  clearly  manifest  ?  It  is 
folly  to  wait.  Separation  is  the  only  thing.  You  can 
live  where  you  please.  I  will  make  over  to  you  any 
part  of  my  fortune  which  you  desire.  It  would  not 
do  for  you  to  go  to  Springdale.  You  must  travel  to 
some  place  where  our  history  will  not  get  abroad.  I 
shall  leave  here  to-inorro\v.  You  may  go  as  far  with 
me  as  you  please  and  proceed  onward  where  you  will. 
The  money  I  can  leave  subject  to  your  order." 

A  flush  almost  of  anger  mantled  Clara  Greyburn's 
cheek. 

"  Do  you  imagine,"  she  said,  "  that  I  would  touch  a 
cent  of  yours  under  those  circumstances  ?  How  would 
that  look  ?  '  Wedded  two  weeks  and  then  separated 
with  a  liberal  allowance.'  I  have  earned  no  rights  by 
my  marriage  with  you,  and  if  you  desert  me  I  will 
take  nothing.  When  you  think  of  me  in  the  future, 
you  may  dislike,  but  you  shall  at  least  respect  me. 
You  shall  not  have  it  to  say  that  I  was  a  fortune 
hunter.  Money  !  I  despise  it.  My  little  school,  with 
its  ten  dollars  a  week,  would  have  satisfied  me  for- 
ever. Somewhere,  away  from  those  who  have  known 
me,  I  can  get  employment  again.  But  as  for  your 
money,  never  speak  of  it." 

Greyburn  looked  at  his  wife  with  increasing  aston- 
ishment as  she  proceeded. 

"  You  do  me  an  injustice,"  he  said,  "  to  suppose  that 
I  could  ever  have  an  unkind  thought  of  you  or  doubt 
the  extremest  purity  of  your  motives.  I  can  see  noth- 
ing wrong  in  my  proposal.  Unpleasant  to  you  as  it 
may  be,  you  are  my  wife,  and  are  entitled  to  a  certain 
share  of  all  that  is  mine.  We  are  human  beings  and 
cannot  live  on  air.  You  could  not  even  travel  north 
without  the  means  of  paying  your  way,  and  you  might 
be  months  in  getting  such  a  situation  as  you  desire. 
You  must  have  money — not  mine,  but  your  own — of 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  185 

which    I    am   the   legal   custodian.      Be    reasonable, 
Clara." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  as  decidedly  as  ever.  "  I 
could  not  touch  it,"  she  said.  "  It  would  seem  like  a 
price." 

"  At  least,"  suggested  Greyburn,  "  you  will  accept  a 
loan.  Put  it  in  that  light.  You  can  repay  me  by 
sending  to  my  banker  in  New  York  whenever  you 
desire.  Will  you  do  that  ?" 

"  You  might  buy  me  a  ticket  back  to  Springdale," 
said  Clara,  doubtfully.  "  When  I  get  there  I  could 
sell  my  home  and  that  would  give  me  all  I  should 
need.  Half  of  it  is  Walter's,  but  I  could  settle  that 
with  him.  So  much  I  would  be  willing  to  accept  until 
I  could  repay  it,  but  positively  no  more." 

"  Then  I  will  not  leave  you  !"  cried  Greyburn. 
"  You  are  not  fit  to  go  out  into  the  world  alone  if  you 
hold  such  ideas  as  those.  You  shall  still  endure  me, 
and  we  will  see  whether  a  few  more  weeks  oithat  will 
not  induce  you  to  consent  to  anything.  There  is  some- 
thing I  can  do.  I  can  take  you  back  to  New  York 
and  install  you  in  a  house  there,  and  then  go  and  travel 
for  my  health  for  a  few  years.  You  are  Mrs.  Hector 
Greyburn,  whether  your  husband  is  at  home  or  away." 

"  It  would  be  only  an  excuse,"  said  Clara.  "  I 
should  feel  all  the  time  as  if  I  was  eating  food  to 
which  I  had  no  claim,  and  I  know  I  could  not  bear 
it  long.  And  where  would  you  be  ?  You  could  not 
possibly  be  happy.  No,  it  would  never  do  in  the 
world." 

Greyburn  took  up  the  reins  and  drove  silently  to- 
ward his  hotel.  He  said  no  more  till  the  retiring  hour, 
and  then  only  this  :  "  Good-night,  my  white  angel. 
Don't  let  sleep  keep  away  on  account  of  anything 
I've  said.  We  will  talk  it  over  again  to-morrow." 

The  advice  he  had  given  his  wife  he  was  unable  to 
follow.  All  attempts  at  sleep  proved  futile.  At  last 


1 86  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

just  as  the  clocks  were  striking  four,  he  arose,  dressed 
himself,  and  went  out  for  a  walk  up  the  mountain- 
side. The  cool  air  invigorated  him,  and  the  walk 
sent  the  blood  quickly  through  his  veins.  He  climbed 
up,  up,  higher  than  ever  before.  Just  before  the  sun 
was  ready  to  rise  he  became  attracted  by  the  silver 
stream  of  the  river  at  the  base  of  the  hills,  and  de- 
scended toward  its  banks.  A  country  road  ran  along 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  a  hundred  feet  or  so  above 
the  river,  and  Greyburn  had  to  cross  this  on  his  jour- 
ney. He  had  hardly  done  so  when  a  man  sprang  in 
front  of  him  and  barred  his  progress. 

"  Stop  f"  cried  the  apparition. 

Greyburn  stopped  and  looked  at  the  man.  He  was 
somewhat  surprised  to  see  him,  but  the  sentiment  did 
not  show  itself  in  his  face.  The  look  there  would  be 
better  described  as  one  of  careless  indifference. 

"  I  see  ye  know  me,"  said  the  man. 

"  I  haven't  that  honor,"  responded  Greyburn,  indif- 
ferently. 

"  Ye  lie  !"  cried  the  man.  "  Ye  know  me  well.  I 
saw  ye  at  Springdale  that  night  when  ye  began  this 
hellish  work.  What  do  ye  think  I'm  here  fer?" 

"  I — neither — know,  nor — care,"  said  Greyburn,  with 
cool,  slow  sarcasm.  "  All  I  know  about  you  is  this, 
that  you  are  very  dirty — and — very  impolite." 

The  man  glanced  at  his  hands  and  seemed  to 
acknowledge  the  correctness  of  that  part  of  the  de- 
scription. 

"  I  never  was  a  gentleman,"  he  said,  with  a  severity 
which  was  meant  to  be  cutting. 

"  That  is  evident,"  agreed  Greyburn. 

"  Neither  did  I  ever  ruin  an  honest  man's  daughter  !" 
added  the  other,  sharply. 

"  I  should  say  so,"  said  Greyburn.  "  They  have  not 
yet,  I  hope,  been  reduced  to  such  depths  as  that." 

"  I  can't  talk  as  fast  as  you,"  said  the  man,  "  but  I'll 


"Have  ye  no  word  to  send  to  jrer  friends?"    Page  18"]. 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  !£/ 

tell  ye  somethin'  that  may  interest  ye.  I've  been 
huntin'  fer  two  weeks  fer  a  man  named  Hector  Grey- 
burn,  who's  ruined  the  daughter  of  one  who  was  my 
best  friend.  I've  found  this  Greyburn  an'  I'm  goin' 
to  kill  him." 

"  Indeed  !  So  you  add  the  interesting  trade  of  a 
murderer  to  your  other  occupations,"  said  Greyburn, 
in  the  same  manner  as  before.  "  Let — me — see.  I 
think  I  do  recollect  you.  Your  name  is — Dinsmore — 
and  you  used  to  be  a  blacksmith.  Yes,  that  is  right. 
Well,  does  your  new  trade  pay  better  than  the  old  ?" 

"  I  don't  kill  fer  money"  said  the  man,  doggedly. 

"  Really  ?  What  else  could  make  a  reason  in  so 
dull  a  head  as  )rours  ?  A  man  who  has  been  content 
all  his  life  to  handle  sooty  iron  and  blow  a  crazy  pair 
of  bellows.  You  shod  a  horse  very  well,  too.  Per- 
haps you  will  not  succeed  so  ably  at  your  new  profes- 
sion." 

"  I'll  leave  that  to  you,"  said  Dinsmore,  "  as  you 
will  be  my  first  victim." 

"  Your  first  ?"  said  Greyburn,  with  a  mock  gesture 
of  horror.  "  Let  me  beg  you  to  go  and  kill  a  few 
others  for  practice.  I  should  hate  to  be  experimented 
upon  by  a  novice.  When  you  are  as  expert  at  mur- 
dering as  you  were  at  horseshoeing  you  may  command 
me,  but  not  sooner.  I  decidedly  object  to  being  killed 
by  an  amateur." 

"  Ye  are  welcome  to  yer  wit,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
"  as  it  will  be  so  short  a  time  that  ye  can  use  it.  Is 
thar  anythin'  ye  wish  to  do  or  say  before  I  finish  ye  ?" 

"  There  are  several  things,"  said  Greyburn,  "  and 
they  will  all  take  time.  Could  you  call  around,  say — 
a  week  from  to-day.  By  that  time  I  think  I  could  be 
quite  ready." 

"  Have  ye  no  word  to  send  to  yer  friends  in  New 
York  ?"  queried  Dinsmore,  with  flashing  eyes,  ignor- 
ing the  levity  of  the  last  answer.  "  None  to  yer 


1 88  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

friend  Mendall,  yer  dear  friend  Mendall,  who  offered 
to  pay  my  expenses  here  ?  Nothin'  at  all  to  Men- 
dall ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Greyburn,  coolly.  "  Except — that 
I  have  his  money." 

"  Or  to  Walter  Campbell  ?' 

"  Only — that  I  have  his  sister." 

"  Do  ye  dare,"  cried  Dinsmore,  "  with  yer  foot  on 
the  edge  o'  the  grave,  talk  lightly  o'  Clara  Camp- 
bell ?" 

"  Clara  Greyburn,  if  you  please,"  responded  the 
other,  imperturbably.  "  It  is  as  well  to  be  correct." 

"  How  she  must  hate  ye  !"  mused  the  blacksmith, 
gazing  at  Greyburn  with  intense  loathing.  "  But  I 
lose  time.  I  came  here  to  kill  ye,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  do 
it.  I  know  this  ground  pretty  well.  I've  ben  all  over 
it.  There  isn't  a  house  within  the  sound  o'  pistol 
shot.  No  teams  are  likely  to  pass  at  this  hour. 
When  yer  dead  I'll  throw  yer  body  into  the  river 
down  thar.  I  warn  ye  I'm  not  triflin'.  I'll  give  ye 
two  minutes  more." 

Dinsmore  produced  a  large  navy  revolver  and  pro- 
ceeded to  examine  the  cartridges. 

"That's  a  pretty  thing  you  have  there,"  said  Grey- 
burn.  "  Let  me  look  at  it."  He  reached  out  his 
hand  as  if  he  really  expected  the  weapon  would  be 
given  him  for  inspection. 

"  Back  !"  cried  the  blacksmith,  "  or  ye'll  die  even 
sooner  than  the  time  I  gave  ye  !" 

"  How  much  time  is  there  left  ?"  asked  Greyburn, 
standing  with  his  hands  in'  the  pockets  of  his  sacquc 
coat.  "  Play  fair  now,  fellow.  Don't  cheat  me  on 
the  time." 

"  You  have  one  minute  more,"  said  Dinsmore. 
"In  sixty  seconds  you  will  be  a  dead  man." 

"  In  fifty  seconds,  more  likely,"  corrected  Grey- 
burn.  "  And  do  you  really  mean  to  shoot  me  ?" 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  189 

"  As  true  as  thar's  a  God  in  heaven  !"  said  the 
blacksmith,  raising  his  weapon. 

There  was  a  loud  report  and  a  man  lay  writhing  on 
the  sod,  while  flakes  of  blood  discolored  the  green 
grass.  It  was  not  Hector  Greyburn. 

"  I  hope  the  scamp  is  not  killed,"  he  said,  as  he 
turned  with  a  shudder  from  the  sight  of  the  sanguin- 
ary leaves.  "  What  a  cold-blooded  villain  he  must 
be  !  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  to  the  hotel  and  get  as- 
sistance to  take  him  there.  That  wasn't  a  bad  shot 
to  be  made  from  a  coat  pocket." 

He  walked  around  the  prostrate  form.  Dinsmore, 
who  was  still  conscious,  turned  slightly,  and  a  new  ef- 
fusion of  the  life  fluid  gushed  forth.  Greyburn  took 
several  steps  backward  and  went  over  the  edge  of 
the  cliff. 

The  first  fall  was  only  eight  or  ten  feet,  but  his 
forehead  struck  a  jagged  stone  and  he  knew  no  more. 
His  body  rolled  down  the  sides  of  the  mountain, 
striking  here  and  there,  until  it  reached  the  river, 
when  the  swollen  stream  picked  it  up  and  hurried  it 
upon  its  bosom  toward  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SEVERAL  hours  later  than  the  events  just  narrated, 
a  teamster  came  along  the  road  leading  to  Johnsbury, 
and  his  horses  shied  from  a  creature  who  lay  on  the 
grass  by  the  roadside  and  feebly  waved  a  handker- 
chief stained  with  blood.  The  teamster's  name  was 
Jones.  He  stopped  his  animals  and  went  to  look  at 
the  object  which  had  attracted  their  attention. 

"  What's  hurt  ye,  my  man  ?"  he  asked,  after  taking 


190  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

a  scrutinizing  look  at  the  blacksmith.  "  Accidentally 
shot,  hey  ?"  he  added,  picking  up  the  revolver  which 
lay  partially  hidden  in  the  leaves.  "  Is  it  very  bad  ? 
Can't  ye  get  up  ?  Why  don't  ye  speak  ?" 

Dinsmore  shook  his  head  with  a  feeble  motion, 
which  showed  that  even  that  exertion  cost  him  a  pain- 
ful effort,  at  the  same  time  revealing  to  his  questioner, 
by  removing  his  hand,  a  bullet  mark  in  the  side  -of  his 
throat,  from  which  blood  was  slowly  oozing. 

"  Can't  speak,  hey  ?"  said  the  teamster.  "  Wall, 
what  you  want  is  a  doctor,  that's  sartin.  I'll  take  ye 
back  to  Chatham  Corners,  whar  old  Doc.  Robinson  '11 
fix  ye  up.  Let  me  cotch  holt  o'  ye  an'  I'll  git  ye  inter 
the  waggin." 

He  was  suiting  the  action  to  the.  word  when  Dins- 
more  made  a  movement  to  dissuade  him.  He  pointed 
toward  Chatham  Corners  and  shook  his  head  a  little. 
Then  he  pointed  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"  Don't  want  ter  go  ter  the  Corners  ?"  queried 
Jones,  interpreting  the  signs  aright.  "  But  ye'll  have 
ter.  Johnsb'ry's  ten  miles  at  least,  an'  Chatham  ain't 
one.  That  'ere  bullet-hole  wants  tendin'  ter,  an' 
mighty  quick,  if  I'm  ter  judge  by  the  paralyziu'  it's 
done  a'ready." 

Dinsmore  made  a  motion  to  get  at  his  pocket,  but 
failed.  His  right  arm  was  well-nigh  useless,  and  he 
could  not  reach  the  place  with  his  left  hand.  The 
teamster  saw  that  something  was  wanted  and  lent  his 
assistance.  A  common  pocket  knife  was  disclosed, 
which  did  not  prove  to  be  the  article  sought.  Next 
came  a  worn  purse,  and  this  Dinsmore  opened.  Tak- 
ing fifty  dollars  in  bills  from  it,  he  showed  them 
to  the  teamster,  and  pointed  again  toward  Johns- 
bury. 

"  Ye  want  me  ter  take  ye  to  Johnsb'ry  an'  not  ter 
the  Corners,  do  ye,  an'  ye'll  give  me  this  'ere  money 
ef  I'll  do  it  ?" 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  19! 

The  blacksmith  gare  unmistakable  assent. 

"Wall,  I  sha'n't  !"  replied  Jones,  dryly.  "I  might 
have  yer  death  on  my  hands.  No  knovvin1  but  they'd 
accuse  me  o'  killin'  ye  ef  I  brought  ye  into  Johnsb'ry 
dead.  No,  it's  no  use,  I  tell  ye,"  he  continued,  as 
Dinsrnore  took  out  bill  after  bill  and  frantically  shoved 
them  toward  him  to  increase  the  bribe.  "I  can't  do 
it.  I've  wasted  time  enough  a'ready  argying.  Here  ! 
put  that  well  arm  aroun'  my  neck,  an'  I'llh'ist  ye  inter 
the  waggin." 

Dinsmore  refused  point-blank  to  render  any  such 
assistance  and  obstinately  stretched  himself  out  on  the 
ground  as  if  determined  not  to  be  moved.  Jones 
looked  at  him  in  some  astonishment  and  presently  his 
temper  began  to  rise. 

"  By  gosh  !  yer  a  goin'  ter  the  Corners  with  me  ef 
I  have  ter  pry  ye  inter  the  team  with  a  cart-stake.  A 
man's  no  bus'ness  ter  kill  hisself  jest  out  of  a  notion 
that  he  prefers  a  Johnsb'ry  doctor  to  old  Cy.  Robin- 
son. I'll  git  the  team  aroun'  here  whar  it's  not  so  far 
to  lug  ye  an'  I'll  have  ye  aboard  as  snre's  my  name's 
Jones." 

The  teamster  turned  at  the  word  and  went  back  to 
his  horses.  In  a  minute  he  was  backing  them  down 
to  where  Dinsmore  lay,  when  he  became  aware  that 
the  blacksmith  had  moved  from  his  former  position. 
Only  a  few  feet  intervened  between  the  road  and  the 
precipice,  and  when  Jones  caught  sight  of  the 
wounded  man  he  was  making  desperate  efforts  to 
reach  the  edge.  Hastily  letting"  go  of  his  horses,  the 
teamster  sprang  to  where  Dinsmore  was  and  laid  a 
heavy  hand  upon  his  clothing.  Weak  and  half-para- 
lyzed, the  blacksmith  turned  savagely  and  tried  to  in- 
sert his  teeth  in  the  friendly  hand,  at  the  same  time 
making  a  violent  struggle  to  precipitate  himself  over 
the  edge  of  the  cliff.  The  surprised  but  now  aroused 
teamster  caught  the  man  by  his  clothing  and,  in  spite 


192  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

of  his  resistance,  placed  him  by  main  force  upon  the 
bottom  of  the  wagon. 

"  What  the  devil's  up  now?"  he  said,  panting  for 
breath  after  this  extraordinary  exertion.  "  Ain't  ye 
hurt  enough  yit  ?  IB  it  suicide  yer  been  tryin'  with 
the  pistol  ?" 

Dinsmore  caught  eagerly  at  the  idea  and  made 
signs  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Why  the  blazes  didn't  ye  take  another  shot  out  o' 
this  navy,  then  ?"  asked  the  teamster,  taking  up  the 
pistol.  "  Ef  yer  wanted  ter  die  ye  had  chance  enough 
before  I  come  along.  Ye  could  a  ben  firin'  this  thing 
off  instid  o'  wavin'  that  handkerchief.  Burn  me  !" 
he  continued,  after  a  more  careful  inspection  of  the 
weapon,  "  not  one  o'  these  ca'tridges  has  been  touched 
off.  Say,  look  a  here,  thar's  some  monkeyin'  ter  this. 
Ye  didn't  shoot  yerself.  Now,  who  did  ?" 

Dinsmore  lay  back  in  the  wagon  with  a  moan. 
He  had  not  strength  enough  nor  sufficient  resources 
in  the  sign  language  to  reply  to  this  new  suspicion. 
He  waved  his  hand  feebly  toward  Chatham  Corners, 
as  if  to  express  his  wish  to  go  even  there  rather  than 
endure  a  longer  cross-examination. 

"  By  gum  !"  said  Jones,  as  he  revolved  the  matter 
over  in  his  mind,  "  I'd  like  ter  understand  this  thing 
a  little  afore  I  leave  here.  Fust,  I'll  look  out  fer  this 
chickin  so't  he  won't  throw  hisself  out  o'  the  waggin 
an'  break  his  neck,  an'  then  I'll  gaze  'round."  In 
spite  of  Dinsmore's  remonstrances,  which  took  the 
form  mainly  of  expressions  of  severe  pain,  Jone.s 
wound  tightly  around  his  body  a  long  rope  which  lay 
under  the  seat,  securing  the  ends  to  rings  on  the  side 
of  the  wagon-body.  "  Ye  won't  die  fer  a  minute,"  he 
soliloquized,  "  an  I'm  dumned  ef  I'm  going  back  ter 
the  Corners  until  I  can  give  some  sort  of  a  notion 
what's  ben  goin'  on  here." 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  193 

The  teamster  walked  up  and  down  the  road,  sharply 
inspecting  each  object. 

"It  don't  look  like  a  fight,"  he  said,  aloud.  "The 
only  dents  on  the  grass  are  \vhar  this  feller  lay. 
Prob'ly  the  chap  what  shot  him  wasn't  very  close. 
He  must  a  seen  him,  o'  course,  or  he  wouldn't  a  had 
his  own  shooter  out.  But  he  claimed  that  he  done  it 
hisself.  That's  what  bothers  me.  He  don't  want  the 
other  feller  troubled,  that's  sure.  Now,  why  didn't 
he  want  ter  go  ter  the  Corners  ?  Could  it  a  ben  any- 
body thar  ?  P'raps  he  thinks  they're  waitin'  ter  finish 
him.  Thar  ye  are  agin  ;  fer  he  sartinly  tried  ter  finish 
hisself  over  that  cliff.  Wall,  I'm  dumfisticated  !  It's 
a  mighty  pecooliar  case." 

While  speaking  of  the  cliff,  Jones  walked  to  the 
edge  of  it  and  looked  over.  Something  attracted 
his  attention  and  he  ran  down  the  road  a  little 
farther  to  find  a  place  where  he  could  descend  the 
side  of  the  declivity.  Succeeding  in  this,  he  was  but 
a  moment  more  in  reaching  the  object  which  he  had 
discovered.  It  was  a  gentleman's  stiff  hat.  The 
brim  was  broken  in,  and  the  lining  torn  on  one  side. 
He  picked  it  up  and  examined  it  with  some  excite- 
ment. Looking  a  little  further,  he  found  a  piece  of 
blue  cloth,  several  inches  square,  clinging  to  some 
thorny  bushes,  and  a  button  such  as  is  used  on  gentle- 
men's coats.  A  diligent  search,  clear  to  the  water's 
edge,  revealed  a  few  shreds  of  the  same  sort  of  cloth, 
caught  here  and  there  in  the  underbush,  and  marks 
all  along,  showing  that  a  heavy  body  had  rolled 
rapidly  down  the  mountain  into  the  river.  Jones 
looked  at  the  swollen  torrent,  rushing  in  all  its  full- 
ness over  its  rocky  bed,  and  turned  to  retrace  his 
steps. 

"  Prob'ly  somebody's  found  the  body — what's  left 
of  it — som'ers  down  stream,"  he  mused.  "  Thar's  no 
use  in  my  botherin'  about  that." 


194  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

Dinsmore  looked  anxiously  into  the  teamster's  face 
as  he  mounted  the  wagon  and  took  up  his  reins. 
Then  he  made  one  more  effort  to  get  him  to  turn 
about  and  go  away  from  the  Corners,  but  without 
avail. 

"  No,  siree  !"  said  Jones,  giving  a  decided  shake  to 
his  head.  "  Thar's  ben  death  thar,  mister,  an'  mur- 
der, fer  all  I  know,  an'  I  hope  I'm  a  good  citizen  an' 
know  my  dooty.  The  fust  doctor  fer  ye  an'  the  fust 
constable  fer  the  rest  is  my  course,  an'  the  quicker 
the  sooner.  So  lay  as  comf'table  as  ye  can  an'  I'll  git 
along  to  the  Corners." 

Jones  was  a  humane  man,  but  he  waslaboring  under 
increasing  excitement,  and  he  drove  his  horses  rather 
faster  than  a  strict  regard  for  the  comfort  of  his 
wounded  passenger  would  have  dictated.  Into  his 
humdrum  life  had  come  a  novel  and  interesting  fea- 
ture. He  had  suddenly  risen  into  a  being  of  great 
importance  in  the  community.  In  his  keeping  was 
the  discovery  of  a  fatal  accident,  at  least,  and  perhaps 
even  a  murder.  It  would  not  be  just  to  say  that  Mr. 
Jones  hoped  that  anybody  had  been  killed  ;  but  if  any- 
body had  been  he  was  not  displeased  to  be  the  bearer 
of  the  first  tidings.  As  he  rode  along  he  imagined 
himself  on  the  witness-stand  before  a  crowded  court- 
room, reciting  in  a  graphic  manner  the  facts  in  his 
possession,  while  the  gaping  crowd  looked  on  with 
wonder.  Whether  accident  or  homicide  it  was  at  least 
a  great  mystery,  and  he,  Mr.  Amos  Jones,  would  bear 
the  first  news  in  relation  to  it. 

In  the  little  village  of  Chatham  Corners  there  was 
excitement  enough  that  morning  before  Mr.  Jones 
drove  into  it  with  his  burden.  Greyburn's  absence  at 
his  usual  breakfast  time  had  caused  surprise,  which 
did  not  abate  when  an  hour,  and  then  two  hours 
elapsed,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  him.  Clara  had 
communicated  her  own  alarm  to  the  landlady,  and 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  195 

within  a  few  minutes  every  person  in  the  village  knew 
that  Greyburn  was  missing.  No  one  could  give  an 
account  of  him.  His  extremely  early  rising  had  taken 
place  before  any  one  else  was  stirring. 

Jones  did  not  live  directly  in  the  village,  but  on  a 
farm  in  the  outskirts.  Otherwise  he  must  have  heard 
the  inquiries  made  before  he  left  home.  By  ten  o'clock 
Clara  had  become  well-nigh  distracted. 

"  Your  brother's  all  right,  miss,"  said  the  landlady, 
for  the  fiftieth  time,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  console  her. 
"  He's  just  taken  a  walk  over  the  hills  and  got  inter- 
ested in  the  scenery.  Lord  !  strangers  always  do 
that.  I've  known  'em  to  stay  all  day  climbing  over 
the  rocks,  looking  at  stones  and  flowers.  Don't  you 
worry,  Miss.  He'll  be  home  by  dinner  time,  now  you 
see  if  he  ain't." 

"But  he  never  did  so  before,"  moaned  Clara. 
'  And — and — you  don't  understand  it,  Mrs.  Baldwin, 
but  I've  reasons  to  fear  for  him  this  morning.  I'm 
afraid — perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  it — but  I'm  very 
much  afraid  we  shall  never  see  him  again.  He  said 
some  things  last  night  which  frightened  me.  Oh  !  he 
should  not  have  gone  like  that !  It  will  break  my 
heart  !" 

The  motherly  Mrs.  Baldwin  took  the  weeping  girl 
in  her  lap  and  hushed  her  against  her  breast. 

"  There,  dearie,  don't  !  He'll  be  all  right,  depend 
on  it.  Supposing  he's  gone  away,  it's  only  to  go  home, 
I've  no  doubt,  and  he'll  write  to  you  when  he  gets 
there.  It's  nothing  to  cry  so  hard  for,  dearie.  Don't 
now  !  you'll  make  me  break  down,  too." 

She  kissed  the  girl's  wet  cheeks,  but  the  tears  only 
came  faster  and  faster. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Baldwin  !"  said  Clara,  raising  her  woe- 
begone face,  "  I  must  tell  you  something  which  you 
mustn't  reveal  unless  I  give  you  leave.  He's  not  my 
brother  at  all.  We  deceived  you." 


1 96  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"Not  your  brother  !"  echoed  the  landlady,  shrink- 
ing impulsively  from  the  childish  form  and  making  a 
movement  to  disengage  the  encircling  arms.  She 
had  very  severe  ideas  of  propriety,  had  Mrs.  Baldwin. 

"Oh,  it's  not  what  you  think!"  exclaimed  Clara, 
hastily,  while  the  hot  blood  flew  to  her  face  as  she 
read  the  landlady's  suspicions  in  her  eyes.  "  He  is 
my  husband.  Here  is  the  certificate.  We've  been 
married  three  weeks.  Oh  !  do  you  think  I'll  ever  see 
him  again  ?" 

She  burst  into  renewed  sobbing,  and  the  careful 
landlady  inspected  the  little  piece  of  paper  which 
proclaimed  her  lodger  an  honest  woman.  Satisfied 
with  its  contents,  she  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  and  ,gave 
it  back  to  its  owner. 

"  SoJt's  a  quarrel  between  you,"  she  said.  "  Too 
bad,  too  bad  !  Three  weeks  ought  to  go  in  peace,  let 
what  will  come  after." 

"  A  quarrel  ?"  repeated  Clara.  "  Oh,  no  !  not  a 
quarrel.  He  loved  me  with  all  his  heart.  It  is  all 
my  fault,  all  mine.  He  never  spoke  a  cross  word  to 
me  and  never  would." 

"  But  you  have  been  here  more  than  a  fortnight," 
said  the  cautious  Mrs.  Baldwin,  "  and  you  have  never 
entered  his  room  nor  he  yours." 

The  good  landlady  had  her  own  notions  on  several 
subjects,  and  they  were  very  pronounced  ones. 

"  I  cannot  explain  any  more,"  said  Clara,  blushing 
again,  and  never  ceasing  to  weep.  "  I  suppose  I 
ought  not  to  have  told  you  that  we  were  married.  He 
might  not  like  it.  Do  you  think  he  will  come  back  ? 
May  he  not  have  met  with  some  accident  !  I  think 
some  of  us  ought  to  go  and  search  for  him." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  caught  up  her  bonnet 
as  she  said  this.  At  that  moment  a  domestic  opened 
the  door  and  called  for  Mrs.  Baldwin.  Clara  passed 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  IQ/ 

with  her  into  the  dining-room,  where  stood  a  rough- 
looking  man  with  a  broken  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  I  reckon  that  ye're  the  lady  I  want,  after  all,"  he 
said,  addressing  Clara.  "  Yer  brother  hain't  ben  seen 
this  mornin',  has  he  ?" 

"  No,"  cried  the  girl.  "  What  do  you  know  of  him  ? 
Speak  quickly  !" 

"  Was  this  his  hat  ?"  asked  the  man,  holding  out  the 
one  in  his  hand. 

Clara  took  the  article  with  a  strange  feeling  and 
saw  that  it  was  bruised  and  dented.  Even  this  did 
not  seem  to  convey  any  distinct  notion  to  her  mind. 
She  dimly  wondered  how  Hector's  hat  got  into  this 
man's  possession,  but  nothing  more. 

"  I  think  it  is  his  hat,"  she  said,  laying  it  on  the 
table.  "  I  don't  know.  You've  seen  him  wear  it, 
Mrs.  Baldwin.  Is  it  the  same  ?" 

"  It's  his,"  said  the  landlady,  growing  a  little  paler. 
"  I  noticed  the  name  inside.  Probably  there's  no 
other  New  York  hat  at  the  Corners." 

"An*  this,"  said  the  man,  producing  apiece  of  blue 
cloth.  "  Did  he  wear  a  suit  like  that  ?" 

"  The  very  same  !"  cried  Mrs.  Baldwin.  "  Yes,  and 
that's  one  of  his  buttons,  too.  Oh,  my  poor  child  !" 

She  turned  and  clasped  Clara  in  her  arms. 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  stammered  the  girl, 
looking  from  Mrs.  Baldwin  to  the  man  and  back 
again.  "  The  hat  is  his,  the  cloth  and  the  button,  but 
— where's  Hector  !" 

"  Miss,"  said  the  man,  "  it's  hard  to  be  tellin'  these 
things,  but  I  found  that  hat  on  the  side  of  a  precipice 
a  mile  up  from  here,  an'  the  button  an"  cloth  down 
near  the  foot  o'  the  hill." 

"  Yes — yes  !"  she  exclamed  again,  "  but  where  is  he 
— Hector  ?  Did  it  —  was  he  hurt  ?" 

"  I  couldn't  find  him  at  all,"  said  the  man,    bluntly. 

"Then  he  is  somewhere  on   the  way   here,"   cried 


198  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

Clara.     '•  I  will  go  at  once  and  meet  him.     Show  me 
the  road."     She  started  for  the  door. 

"  Miss,"  said  the  man,  "  ye  don't  seem  to  under- 
stand. Thar's  a  river  at  the  foot  o'  them  cliffs.  He 
must  a  rolled  down  inter  it." 

"  But  he  can  swim  !"  exclaimed  Clara,  almost  pee- 
vishly "  If  it  was  a  mile  wide  he  could  cross  it.  We 
must  look  for  him.  You  won't  go  ?  Then  T  will  go 
without  you  !" 

•'  Ye've  never  seen  the  place,  o'  course,"  pursued 
the  man.  "  He  went  over  the  cliffs  an'  struck  on  his 
head  an"  then  rolled  near  a  hundred  feet  before  he 
reached  the  river.  He  must  a  ben  stunned  long  be- 
fore^.he  got  ter  the  water.  The  stream  thar  runs 
very  fast  an'  is  full  o'  rocks  an"  eddies  an  falls. 
Now  do  you  see  ?" 

It  was  evident  that  she  did  at  last. 

"  You  think  he's  dead?"  she  screamed. 

",1'm  afeared  so,  Miss,"  lie  said,  nodding  his  head 
compassionately. 

She  did  not  swoon,  though  with  instant  thought  the 
good  landlady  and  the  open-mouthed  kitchen  girl 
caught  her  on  either  side.  The  event  was  too  stupen- 
dous to  be*  met  in  an  ordinary  way..  She  even  de- 
clined the  rocking  chair  which  they  offered  her,  and 
after  a  moment's  study  declared  again  that  she  must 
go  at  once  to  the  place  where  the  things  were  found. 

"  He  was  very  strong,"  she  said,  "and  would  sur- 
vive a  hurt  which  might  prove  fatal  to  a  weaker  man. 
He  may  have  reached  the  shore  further  down  the 
river  and  still  be  too  much  injured  to  get  home.  Go, 
my  good  man,  get  help  and  let  us  hasten  to  him.  I 
will  see  that  all  are  well  paid.  He  is  rich.  Lose  no 
time,  I  entreat  you  !" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  the  teamster's  sleeve,  when  he 
spoke  again. 

"  Thar's  a  man  over  here  in   Dr.  Robinson's  office 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  199 

that  I'm  sartin  can  tell  ye  all  about  it.  He's  badly 
hurt  hisself,  but  the  doctor  says  he'll  pull  through. 
Ef  ye're  strong  enough  ter  go  anywhere's,  ye'd  better 
go  thar  fust." 

John  Dinsmore  lay  on  a  lounge  in  the  office  of  the 
only  physician  at  Chatham  Corners.  He  was  listen- 
ing with  deep  interest  to  every  word  which  the  doctor 
was  saying  to  a  neighbor,  who  had  been  called  in  to 
render  necessary  assistance. 

"It's  a  curious  wound,"  mused  the  old  doctor. 
"Not  necessarily  fatal,  but  -likely  to  make  trouble 
enough.  Already  it  has  paralyzed  the  vocal  organs 
and  partially  deadened  the  limbs  on  the  right  side. 
The  bullet  went  clear  through,  you  see.  It  was  a 
close  shave.  An  eighth  of  an  inch  more  would  have 
ruptured  the  jugular,  and  then— good-bye,  John  !" 

Dinsmore  made  a  quick  motion  with  his  left  hand 
and  was  about  to  insert  his  forefinger  in  the  wound 
when  the  wily  physician  sprang  upon  and  stopped 
him. 

"  Get  me  that  cord  !"  he  said  to  his  assistant.  "  I've 
got  to  tie  him  again.  He's  got  the  suicidal  mania,  as 
sure  as  fate.  Jones  told  me  he  tried  to  throw  him- 
self over  the  cliff.  There,  he's  all  right  now.  See 
who  that  is  knocking  at  the  door,  will  you  ?" 

Dinsmore  saw  as  quickly  as  did  the  man  who  opened 
the  door,  that  Clara  Grey  burn  was  the  foremost  of  the 
party.  The  mental  agony  of  the  moment  was  terrible. 
He  would  have  gladly  welcomed  death  in  any  form 
to  shut  out  the  sight  of  this  woman  whose  husband's 
blood  was  on  his  head.  True,  his  hands  had  not  done 
the  deed,  but  his  acts  had  led  up  to  it,  and  he  was 
not  one  to  draw  fine  distinctions.  A  moment  before 
Greyburn  fell  over  the  precipice  Dinsmore's  finger 
had  pressed  the  trigger  which  was  to  send  him  to 
eternity.  He  was  a  murderer.  He  had  never  for  a 
second  doubted  his  full  responsibility  for  his  enemy's 


20O  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

death.  Nor,  indeed,  was  he  sorry  it  had  occurred. 
Had  he  been  able  to  escape  meeting  Clara  he  would 
have  been  content.  This  was  the  only  thing  he 
dreaded  and  for  which  he  was  unprepared. 

His  first  act  after  seeing  who  was  entering  the 
office  was  to  turn  his  face  resolutely  to  the  wall  in  the 
hope  that  he  might  escape  detection.  But  close  on 
the  heels  of  Clara  and  her  party  came  Squire  Jarvis, 
the  town  clerk  and  justice  of  the  peace  of  Chatham, 
whom  Jones  had  prudently  notified  on  his  way  to  the 
hotel,  and  who  brought  with  him  his  son  to  serve 
as  scrivener.  A  dozen  other  persons,  who  had  learned 
the^news  or  some  part  of  it,  with  that  celerity  which 
circulates  information  through  a  country  village, 
came  flocking  to  the  doctor's  office,  and  soon  blocked 
up  the  doorway. 

"  Everybody  must  get  out  of  here  except  those  who 
have  got  testimony  to  give,"  was  the  immediate  de- 
cision of  the  Justice.  "  I'm  going  to  take  down  the 
statements,  so  you'll  learn  about  it  when  the  proper 
time  comes.  Go  now,  all  of  you." 

"  Mrs.  Baldwin  an*  frer  gal  ain't  got  no  more  busi- 
ness thar*-than  we  uns,"  protested  a  cadaverous  young 
man  with  mouth  full  of  "nigger-head."  "Treat 
everybody  alike,  I  say." 

This  remark  was  received  with  applause  by  the 
rest  of  the  crowd,  which  was  partially  silenced  by  the 
reply  of  the  Justice  that  Mrs.  Baldwin  and  her  do- 
mestic were  the  last  persons  known  to  have  seen  Mr. 
Greyburn  alive. 

"Wall,  I  see  him,  too,"  put  in  he  of  the  hatchet 
face. 

"When  ?"  demanded  the  Justice. 

"  Last  night,  when  he  drove  into  the  village." 

"Oh,  we  all  saw  him  then,"  laughed  the  Justice. 
"  I  did,  I'm  sure.  You'll  have  to  go." 

Amid  the  good-natured   raillery   which   this  reply 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  2OI 

brought  on  the  would-be  witness,  the  outsiders  with- 
drew and  Squire  Jarvis  arranged  the  table  for  his  son, 
giving  him  orders  to  record  in  the  most  careful  man- 
ner every  word  of  the  testimony  which  might  be 
given. 

Amos  Jones'  story  came  first,  and  he  told  it  with 
every  detail.  All  listened  with  deep  interest  to  every 
word,  but  none  more  intently  than  Clara.  Dinsmore 
lay  as  still  as  death,  with  his  face  to  the  wall,  and 
even  when  he  saw  how  much  he  had  committed  him- 
self he  made  no  sign.  It  was  not  the  punishment  by 
the  law  that  he  feared.  He  only  wondered  what  he 
should  do  if  she  came  to  recognize  him. 

The  examination  of  the  witness  had  not  proceeded 
far,  when  at  Clara's  earnest  request  word  was  sent  to 
the  villagers  that  a  liberal  reward  would  be  paid  for 
any  news  of  the  lost  man,  and  she  was  gratified  to 
learn  that  a  number  of  persons  had  gone  with  all  speed 
to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  As  for  herself,  she  could 
tiot  have  gone  now.  A  fascination  rooted  her  to  Dr. 
Robinson's  office,  where  lay  the  man  whose  acts 
showed  that  he  knew  her  husband's  fate. 

After  Squire  Jarvis  had  extracted  all  the  informa- 
tion which  Mr,  Jones  was  capable  of  giving,  he  turned 
to  Clara. 

"  We  will  hear  you  next,"  he  said.  "  Your  full 
name,  please  ?" 

"  Clara  Campbell  Greyburn."  At  the  last  word  she 
bowed  her  head  a  moment  in  her  hands.  It  brought 
a  new  sense  of  her  possible  widowhood. 

"  Mr.  Greyburn  was  your  brother,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  believe  I  can  testify  to-day,"  said 
Clara,  in  piteous  tones.  "  It  is  so  dreadful.  I  do  not, 
I  cannot  think  he  is  dead.  Why  must  I  go  through 
this  ordeal  ?" 

"  Believe  me,"  the  Justice  responded,  with  great 
consideration,  "  I  realize  the  painful  necessity  which 


202  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

compels  my  question.  But  I  am  a  justice  of  the 
peace  and  it  is  my  imperative  duty  to  learn  all  the 
facts.  If  your  brother  is  alive  and  well,  or  has  met 
with  nothing  but  a  slight  accident,  what  we  are 
writing  down  will  do  him  no  harm.  If  worse  has  be- 
fallen him,  every  word  we  can  learn  now  is  of  the  ut- 
most importance.  Will  you  proceed  ?" 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Clara,  striving  to  master  the 
trembling  in  her  voice.  "  What  was  your  question  ?" 

"  I  had  just  written  down  that  Mr.  Greyburn  was 
he*»brother,"  said  Mr.  Jarvis,  Jr. 

"  That  is  wrong.  I  know  we  gave  it  out  so  when 
we  came  here,  and  we  meant  no  harm  by  it,  but  in 
reality  he  is  my  husband.  Mrs.  Baldwin  knows.  She 
has  seen  the  certificate." 

She  produced  the  document  and  handed  it  to  the 
Squire.  It  produced  a  genuine  sensation  in  the  room, 
and  caused  the  brow  of  the  Justice  to  assume  a  yet 
graver  appearance. 

"  I  see  by  this  that  you  have  been  married  but 
three  weeks.  You  must  have  come  directly  here 
from  Nejy  York  after  the  wedding." 

She  assented. 

"Now  tell  me,  as  well  as  you  "can,  without  going 
into  too  many  details,  what  was  the  trouble  between 
you  and  your  husband." 

"  I  cannot,"  faltered  Clara.  "  If  he  is  living  I 
should  never  forgive  myself.  If  he  is  dead  " — here 
she  spoke  with  a  gasp  and  moan — "  I  will  let  it  die 
with  him.  There  was  no  quarrel.  He  loved  me 
ardently.  We  parted  at  ten  last  night  the  best  of 
friends.  Why  do  you  torture  me  with  these  ques- 
tions ?" 

"  You  parted  at  ten  last  night?"  repeated  the  Justice. 
"  Where  did  he  go  then  ?' 

"  To  his  room,  I  suppose.     I  did  not  see  him  again." 

"  He  did  go  to  his  room,"  interposed  Mrs.  Baldwin. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  203 

"  I  can  testify  to  that,  for  I  saw  him  enter  it.  So  did 
Harriet.  He  was  in  there  at  least  until  after  twelve 
o'clock,  for  I  should  have  heard  him  if  he  had  come 
out  before  that  time." 

"  You  occupied  different  rooms,  then,"  said  Squire 
Jarvis.  "  Will  you  tell  me  why  ?" 

"  You  are  distracting  me  !"  cried  Clara.  "  Of  what 
use  can  such  a  question  be  ?  We  were  only  married 
a  little  while — and " 

"Well, "said  the  Justice,  looking  her  full  in  the 
eyes. 

"  It  was  my  wish,  that  is  all.  It  was  my  wish  and 
he  respected  it.  He  loved  me  better  than  I  loved 
him.  Poor  Hector  !" — here  she  broke  into  passionate 
sobbing — "  bring  him  back  to  me,  and  I  will  love  him 
now  !  I  will  never  leave  him,  night  or  day  !" 

The  swoon  had  come.  They  carried  her  into  the 
house,  which  adjoined  the  office,  and  laid  her  on  the 
bed,  where  womanly  hands  set  about  her  restoration. 
When  she  had  gone,  Dinsmore  turned  toward  the 
group  in  the  room  and  motioned  violently  toward  the 
table.  They  understood  him.  A  pencil  and  paper 
were  soon  at  his  disposal  and  his  arm  was  released 
from  the  rope.  With  infinite  pains  he  wrote  with 
his  left  hand  in  cramped  and  almost  undecipherable 
characters  : 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  go  on  with  this  !  I  killed 
the  mail  !  Take  me  away." 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ?"  asked  Squire  Jarvis. 

The  blacksmith  took  the  pencil  again  and  wrote : 

"  I  killed  him,  that  is  enough.  In  God's  name  take 
me  to  jail  ;  hang  me  ;  anything  !" 

"  I  don't  understand  this,"  whispered  the  Squire  to 
his  son.  "  You  noticed  how  he  turned  his  face  away 


2O4  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

when  Mrs.  Greyburn  was  in  the  room.  I  want  to  see 
if  she  will  recognize  him." 

When  Clara  could  sit  up,  they  brought  her  in,  sup- 
ported by  Mrs.  Baldwin,  the  doctor's  wife  and  Harriet. 
The  blacksmith  suspected  their  intention  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  arm.  It  required  the  strength  of 
two  men  to  remove  it  and  turn  him  toward  Clara. 
His  eyes  were  shut,  and  the  loss  of  blood  had  made 
his  face  ghastly  white,  but  she  uttered  his  name  with 
a  cry  and  fainted  again. 

"^Writedown  '  John  Dinsmore,'  "  said  Squire  Jarvis 
to  his  son,  "  and  get  a  carriage  ready  to  take  him  to 
the  Johnsbury  jail." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SEVERAL  miles  from  the  thriving  county  seat 
known  as  Johnsbury  stood  a  cabin  all  by  itself  on  the 
edge  of  ,the  wood.  No  habitation  was  visible  from  its 
windows.  The  place  was  known  as  "  Phillipses." 
Old  Bill  Phillips,  the  owner,  bore  a  hard  name  in  all 
the  country  round.  Was  a  hen-roost  robbed?  it  was 
at  Phillipses  that  they  always  looked  first,  and  the 
fact  that  they  never  found  anything  there  -did  not  in 
the  least  remove  the  general  belief  that  Bill  was  the 
culprit.  Did  a  sack  of  corn  or  alive  pig  disappear? 
Phillips  was  the  first  name  mentioned.  Rapid  River 
came  tumbling  down  the  hills  very  near  his  farm.  In 
this  stream  there  were  always  plenty  of  trout.  The 
nearest  thing  to  honest  work  that  old  Bill  had  ever 
been  known  to  do  was  to  angle  for  these  creatures, 
and  his  skill  at  taking  them  had  given  him  a  reputa- 
tion hardly  inferior  to  that  caused  by  his  unlawful 
pranks.  On  the  morning  that  Hector  Greyburn's 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  2O$ 

body  fell  into  the  Rapid's  torrent,  Phillips  happened 
to  be  wandering  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  further 
down  the  stream,  where  lay  a  particularly  fine  trout- 
ing  basin.  He  had  just  got  comfortably  to  work  and 
was  preparing  to  pull  in  a  good  string  of  the  finny 
tribe,  when  a  different  object  attracted  his  attention. 

"  By  the  great  horn  spoon,  that  ain't  no  fish  !"  he 
exclaimed,  laying  down  his  pole.  "  It's  a  man,  dead 
ar  alive,  or  I'm  a  sucker  !" 

He  sprang  with  extraordinary  agility  for  one  of  his 
years  upon  a  heavy  boulder  which  lay  directly  in  the 
course  the  body  was  taking,  and  made  a  vigorous 
effort  to  get  hold  of  it,  but  it  eluded  his  grasp  and 
was  whirled  rapidly  down  the  stream. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  cuss  is  alive,"  he  exclaimed,  spring- 
ing back  to  the  shore  as  quickly  as  he  left  it.  "  He 
don't  want  to  hit  that  cocoanut  of  his  many  times 
more  agin  them  rocks  if  there  is  any  life  in  him.  I'll  try 
my  fishing-pole  and  see  if  I  can't  anchor  him  that  way." 

Phillips  ran  down  the  stream  with  the  pole  in  his 
hands,  and  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  fastening  the 
hook  in  the  clothing  of  the  floating  man.  With  the 
careful  effort  of  one  who  had  practiced  with  the  rod 
on  almost  every  kind  of  fresh-water  fish,  he  gradually 
drew  the  body  to  the  shore,  and  at  last  caught  it 
vigorously  with  his  hands  and  drew  it  upon  the  land. 

Acting  upon  his  first  impulse,  Phillips  turned  the 
man  over  on  his  face  in  the  grass  and  set  about  the 
common  methods  of  resuscitation.  For  ten  minutes 
he  worked  with  all  his  might  to  restore  life  to  the 
still  form,  but  apparently  without  avail.  All  at  once 
he  stopped  suddenly,  as  though  struck  by  a  new  idea. 
He  looked  anxiously  in  every  direction  to  front  and 
rear  and  then,  ceasing  his  work,  he  stood  for  a  min- 
ute in  doubt. 

"This  fellow  is  well  dressed,"  he  was  thinking  to 
himself.  "  Perhaps  he's  got  a  pretty  pile  of  money 


206  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

about  him.  If  he  has,  haven't  I  a  right  to  it  if  I  can 
get  it  ?  If  he's  dead,  it  won't  do  him  no  good,  and  if 
he's  alive,  I'm  entitled  to  something  for  saving  him. 
By  Goshen  !  I'll  examine  his  pockets,  any  way." 

A  gold  watch  and  chain  were  the  first  articles 
found.  Next,  a  diamond  stud  in  the  shirt  bosom  was 
wrenched  off.  Finally  a  pocket-book  was  discovered, 
and  on  opening  it  Phillips  found  a  number  of  bills, 
some  of  large  denominations,  only  slightly  dampened 
by  the  water.  The  sight  of  the  money  seemed  to  put 
a  devil  into  old  Bill's  heart,  for  he  hastily  pocketed  his 
plunder,  and,  grasping  the  body  by  its  clothing, 
started  to  drag  it  once  more  toward  the  bank  of  the 
stream.  In  this  work  he  was  interrupted  in  a  most 
unexpected  manner.  A  slight,  boyish  form  appeared 
on  the  high  road  adjacent,  and  a  voice  called  out : 

"  Stop  !" 

Phillips  was  a  coward.  None  other  would  have 
robbed  a  helpless  fellow  creature  and  then  sought  to 
bury  in  eternal  silence  the  only  voice  which  could  tes- 
tify against  him.  He  loosened  his  hold  of  the  body 
and  turned  in  a  startled  way  towards  the  boy,  who 
came  with  all  speed  to  where  he  was  standing. 

"What  are  you  trying  to  dc?"  said  the  lad. 
"  Would  you  kill  the  man  as  well  as  take  his  money." 

Phillips  looked  with  pretended  innocence  at  his 
childish  accuser. 

"  Who's  thinking  of  killing  any  one  ?"  he  blurted 
out.  "  A  man's  a  right  to  save  a  body  that  he  finds 
floating  in  the  river,  ain't  he  ?  You  wouldn't  argy  in 
a  court  of  justice  that  there's  law  agin'  that  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  determined  air,  "  but 
there's  law  against  robbing  a  man  whether  he's  alive 
or  dead  ;  and  there's  a  thing  they  call  humanity, 
which  teaches  us  to  save  a  human  life  when  we  can/' 

Old  Bill  stood  on  the  defensive, 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  2O/ 

"  Who  pulled  this  'ere  body  out  of  the  Rapid  ?  Tell 
me  that !" 

"  You,  I  suppose,  if  you  say  so,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  But  that  gives  you  no  right  to  put  it  back  again,  as 
you  were  going  to  do  when  I  stopped  you." 

"  Going — to — put— it — back  !"  repeated  Phillips,  as 
if  horror-stricken  at  the  idea.  "  You  ought  not  to  say 
that,  young  fellow.  I  was  only  going  to  get  him 
nearer  to  the  edge  of  the  drink  so  I  could  wet  his 
head.  That's  all  I  was  ever  dreaming  of,  'pon  my 
word,  now." 

The  boy  could  not  help  smiling  a  little.  "  His  head 
needs  wetting,  I  should  think,"  he  said,  passing  the 
soaked  hair  through  his  hand.  "  That's  a  pretty  poor 
story.  What  he  needs  is  liquor  of  some  kind.  Give 
me  that  flask  in  your  pocket  and  I'll  turn  some  down 
his  throat." 

Phillips  handed  the  boy  a  flask,  which  happened  to 
be  nearly  full,  but  he  had  no  sooner  done  so  than  he 
began  to  recover  a  little  of  his  courage,  and  reached 
for  it  again. 

"  By  cripes,  boy  !  I've  got  a  word  to  say  about  this 
matter.  You  ain't  going  to  fetch  this  fellow  to,  and 
then  help  him  to  cheat  me  out  of  my  honest  share  of 
what  I  have  found  on  him.  I  don't  want  no  trouble 
with  you,  but  there's  got  to  be  an  understanding  be- 
fore we  go  any  further." 

"  Oh,  there  has,  has  there  ?"  said  the  boy.  "  Well, 
I'm  telling  you  that  everything  will  have  to  be  done 
to  save  this  man's  life  before  anything  else.  Take 
hold  and  help  me  do  that,  and  then  you  may  reward 
yourself  out  of  that  pocket-book,  if  you  are  mean 
enough  to  take  it  in  that  way." 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  lad  with  an  undecided 
air. 

"  How  do  I  know  you'll  do  the  right  thing  if  I  take 
you  at  your  word  ?"  he  asked. 


208  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  have  some  confidence  in  what 
I  tell  you,"  said  the  lad.  "  Yon  know  what  to  do,  for 
I  saw  you  at  work  before.  Hold  on  !  here  is  a  bullet- 
hole  in  his  coat.  Perhaps  he  was  shot  before  he  got 
into  the  water.  No,  the  hole  was  made  by  this  pis- 
tol, which  must  have  been  discharged  accidentally. 
Come,  will  you  help  me,  or  shall  I  go  for  other  assist- 
ance ?" 

Phillips  glanced  hastily  up  and  down  the  stream 
and  back  toward  the  woods.  His  look  was  enough  to 
make  the  boy  rise  to  his  feet  and  grasp  the  revolver 
which  he  had  taken. 

"  None  of  that  !  I've  made  a  fair  proposition  to 
you.  Now  if  you  don't  go  to  work  and  help  me  save 
this  man,  there'll  be  trouble." 

Bill  saw  that  he  was  foiled  and  at  once  reassumed 
his  mild  manner. 

"  Sartinly,  I'll  do  anything  that's  reasonable,"  he 
said,  beginning  to  rub  the  hands  of  the  drowned  man. 
"  You'll  do  what's  right,  I'm  sure.  I'll  trust  you. 
Hand  me  the  brandy." 

He  poured  a  generous  quantity  down  the  throat,  and 
for  several  minutes  proceeded  to  use  every  endeavor 
to  bring  motion  into  the  still  form.  Just  as  he  was  on 
the  point  of  declaring  that  there  was  no  use  in  trying 
longer,  a  faint  groan  brought  a  bright  light  into  the 
eyes  of  the  younger  of  the  workers  and  seemed  not  to 
displease  even  the  elder. 

"  He's  coming  round,"  said  Phillips,  "but  this  ain't 
no  place  to  get  him  clear  out  of  this  stupor.  There's 
a  little  shanty  not  far  off  where  the  fishermen  camp 
sometimes,  and  if  we  could  get  him  there  and  get  a 
fire  going,  he'd  soon  be  all  right.  Do  you  suppose 
you  could  bear  a  hand  if  I  can  carry  the  heft  of 
him  ?" 

Overjoyed  at  the  proposal,  the  boy  gathered  up  the 
articles  which  had  been  strewn  upon  the  grass,  and 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  2OQ 

lent  his  slight  assistance  toward  raising  the  body 
from  the  ground.  It  was  a  severe  tax  on  his 
strength,  but  he  bore  his  part  of  the  burden  without 
complaint.  Every  forty  or  fifty  steps  they  halted  for 
a  moment's  rest.  Phillips  took  every  opportunity  to 
reiterate  his  expressions  of  confidence  in  his  young 
companion,  and  to  declare  his  belief  that  he  would 
never  see  an  honest  man  the  worse  off  for  trying  to 
save  a  fellow-creature. 

"  If  I  hadn't  fished  him  out,  he'd  been  dead  sure 
before  this,"  he  would  say.  "  He  wouldn't  be  any 
kind  of  a  man  to  grudge  me  a  little  spare  change, 
would  he  ?  And  you  wouldn't  be  the  one  to  encour- 
age such  an  idea,  I  can  tell  that  by  the  looks  of  you." 

They  reached  the  cabin  at  last,  and  stripping  off  the 
drenched  clothing  laid  the  body  on  a  couch.  With 
the  aid  of  hot  water  and  a  lot  of  old  towels  which  they 
found,  they  soon  witnessed  a  marked  improvement  in 
the  condition  of  their  patient.  Rubbing  with  hot 
cloths  and  an  internal  dose  of  hot  brandy  and  water 
did  wonders.  Phillips  seemed  to  have  entirely  given 
up  his  first  ideas  and  devoted  himself  assiduously  to 
the  work  before  him.  The  boy  arranged  the  wet 
clothing  by  the  stove,  where  it  would  dr^  and  then 
sat  down  exhausted. 

"  I  can't  see  as  he's  got  any  real  hard  clip  except 
this  one  on  his  forehead,"  said  Phillips,  after  making 
a  careful  inspection.  "  He's  scratched  and  bruised 
enough,  but  that's  the  only  jinooine  winder.  He'll 
never  look  so  pretty  as  he  used  to  in  the  face,  if  I'm 
any  guesser.  That  cut  goes  slantingly  clear  across 
the  forehead." 

The  injured  man  turned  his  head  and  muttered 
something  unintelligible. 

"  What  he  ought  to  have  is  a  doctor,  I  suppose," 
said  Phillips.  "  I  don  t  see  how  it's  to  be  managed, 
though.  It  won't  do  for  me  to  knock  all  my  own  in- 


210  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

terests  in  the  head.  And  yet,  the  cuss  is  coming 
round  so  comfortable  that  I  really  hate  to  see  him 
fall  back  now." 

The  boy  sitting  by  the  fire  was  very  busy  thinking, 
Presently  he  said  : 

"  Let  me  see  that  pocket-book." 
4.'  You'll  do  the  fair  thing  now,"  whined   Phillips, 
handing  it  over  with  evident  reluctance.     "  I've  dealt 
square  with  you  and  you  must  do  the  same   with 
me." 

"  I  will  keep  my  word,"  replied  the  boy.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  count  the  money  and  was  evidently  sur- 
prised at  the  large  amount. 

"  There  is  six  thousand  dollars  here,"  he  said. 

"  I  knew  there  wasn't  far  from  that." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?" 

"  How  much  ?"  repeated  the  old  man. 

"  Yes.  Don't  be  unreasonable.  I  want  to  treat 
you  fairly,  but  remember  there  are  two  of  us  to  share 
in  this  thing.  I've  got  rights  here  as  well  as  you." 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  lad  in  a  dazed  way. 

"  You  want  part  for  yourself  !"  he  gasped. 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  I — I  thought "  began  Phillips. 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  thought,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  Because  I  wasn't  willing  to  have  him  killed,  you 
thought  I  wouldn't  take  anything  for  my  trouble  in 
saving  him." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a  pause,  "  you 
ought  to  have  something.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"  There's  still  another  one  to  share,"  said  the  boy. 

"Who  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Phillips,  look- 
ing thoroughly  scared. 

The  lad  pointed  to  the  man  on  the  bed. 

"  Him.  You  wouldn't  leave  him  wounded  and  sick 
like  that  without  a  penny,  would  you  ?  He  must  be 
got  away  from  here  and  nursed  back  to  health,  so 


THOU   SHALT  NOT/  21  f- 

that  he  can  rejoin  his  friends.  That  will  cost' 
money.  Come,  partner,  we  must  leave  him  his  share. 
If  he  can't  speak,  we  will  speak  for  him." 

This  idea  was  too  strange  for  Phillips  to  accept  im- 
mediately. 

"  If  we  leave  any  money  on  him,  the  next  man  who 
comes  along  will  steal  it,"  he  said,  finally.  "  So  what's 
the  use  ?  We'd  better  divide  it,  half  and  half.  I  say, 
now,  you  won't  kick  at  that?  I'll  give  up  half  to  you. 
I  swear  I  hadn't  ought  to  be  asked  to  do  any  better." 

The  boy  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  The  watch,  chain  and  diamond.  Throw  those  in 
for  me  and  the  man  and  we  will  accept  your  proposi- 
tion. Only  there  is  one  thing  more  :  you  must  help 
us  to  get  away  from  here.  I  shall  want  food  and 
medicine  suitable,  for  him  during  the  day  and  a  con- 
veyance to  take  us  to  some  railroad  station  to-night. 
The  sooner  we  put  a  few  miles  between  us  and  this 
spot  the  better  for  me — the  better  for  you.  I  shall 
not  leave  the  man  until  he  is  able  to  go  alone,  or  un- 
til his  friends  find  him." 

''  Do  you  live  in  Johnsbury  ?" 

"  No,  nor  anywhere  else.  It  makes  no  difference 
where  I  go  only  so  that  I  get  away  from  here." 

"  It's  a  curious  way  of  doing  it,"  said  the  old  man. 
"Why  not  skip  out  with  your  share  of  the  stuff  and 
send  word  in  some  way  to  the  sheriff  at  Johnsbury 
where  he  can  find  the  man  ?" 

"  I've  taken  a  fancy  to  him,"  said  the  lad,  "  and  I 
won't  leave  him  until  he  is  much  better,  which  I  feel 
sure  will  take  weeks  of  time.  And,  of  course,  I  don't 
want  to  be  found  around  here." 

"  Blessed  if  I  can  see  why  not  !  You  could  get  the 
whole  credit  of  saving  him." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  certainly,"  said  the  boy.  "  You  are  a 
calculator  !  And  when  the  police  said,  '  Yon  carried 
this  man  here  from  the  shore  of  the  river  all  alone, 


212  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

we  suppose  ?'  and  when  he  told  them  there  was  three 
thousand  dollars  missing,  I  should  be  able  to  explain 
everything,  of  course  !" 

Phillips  surveyed  the  boy  with  admiration. 

"You're  a  keen  one  and  you've  got  the  right  idea 
oi-it.  I  can  get  anything  you  want  for  him  over  here 
at  a  little  settlement,  and  a  carriage  after  dark  is  as 
easy  as  winking.  The  place  for  you  to  take  the  cars 
is  about  fifteen  miles  from  here  at  a  flag  station.  How 
will  you  explain  things  to  the  conductor,  though  ?" 

"  Can  you  get  me  an  ounce  of  laudanum  ?" 

"  To  be  sure." 

"  I'll  give  him  small  doses  of  that  if  I  see  he's  be- 
coming too  clear  in  his  mind.  When  we  get  to  the 
cars  I  will  wrap  his  head  up  and  pass  him  for  my 
sick  brother.  If  he  becomes  too  troublesome  and  is 
able  to  get  along  I  can  leave  the  train." 

"  That  is  first  rate,"  said  Phillips,  delighted.  "  Only 
that  laudanum,  ain't  you  afraid  to  handle  that  ?  It 
don't  take  much  to  kill  a  man,  if  I  understand  it 
right." 

"  I  know  just  how  much  to  give  him,"  replied  the 
lad.  I  wasn't  two  years  in  a  doctor's  office  for  noth- 
ing. You  hurry  and  get  that  and  the  other  things 
I've  written  for  on  this  paper,  and  get  back  as  soon  as 
you  can." 

Phillips  took  the  paper  and  left  the  cabin.  It  had 
come  to  be  quite  natural  to  obey  now.  The  strong 
mind  of  the  child  had  no  difficulty  in  dominating  the 
weaker  mind  of  the  man.  The  course  which  he  took 
led  him  for  a  short  distance  up  the  bank  of  Rapid 
river,  and  he  was  just  in  time  to  meet  the  exploring 
party  which  had  come  down  from  Chatham  Corners. 
There  were  a  dozen  men  of  them,  all  more  or  less  ex- 
cited. Seeing  him  come  from  the  direction  in  which 
they  were  going  they  sprang  toward  him  and  began 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  213 

to  ply  him  with  questions,  for  which  he  was  well  pre- 
pared. 

"  I  did  see  something  down  the  river  a  piece,"  he 
said,  in  response  to  their  inquiries,  "  and  I  thought  at 
the  time  it  looked  curious." 

"  How  far  down  ?"  cried  the  crowd  in  one  breath. 

"  How  fur  ?"  repeated  the  old  man  with  delibera- 
tion. "  Well,  I  couldn't  just  say  exactly  but  perhaps 
a  couple  of  miles.  Maybe  three.  It  was  near  an  hour 
ago,  anyhow,  and  I  have  been  walking  along  at  a 
pretty  even  jog." 

This  intelligence  fell  like  a  wet  blanket  on  the  seek- 
ers for  reward.  All  but  two  or  three  concluded  to 
give  up  the  search  and  return  home,  believing  that 
the  body  must  have  been  found  already  by  some  one. 
Those  who  went  on  were  the  youngest  of  the  party, 
who  kept  up  the  search  for  the  novelty  of  it,  though 
without  any  real  expectation  of  anything  more  than 
getting  the  first  news  of  the  recovery.  Phillips 
chuckled  to  himself  at  the  sensation  he  had  created 
and  went  his  way. 

Just  after  dusk  that  night  a  livery  stable  keeper  of 
Johnsbury,  who  bore  not  too  good  a  reputation  among 
his  townsmen,  was  accosted  in  his  yard  by  a  fellow 
whose  face  was  muffled  in  a  heavy  comforter  and 
whose  voice  was  evidently  disguised  for  the  occasion. 
The  result  of  a  brief  conversation  was  that  twenty 
dollars  was  promised  for  a  night's  work,  where  no 
questions  would  be  asked.  The  stable  keeper  soon 
after  drove  a  hack  with  one  passenger  up  the  road 
leading  toward  Chatham  Corners.  In  an  hour  he 
turned  off  into  an  unfrequented  by-way  and  finally 
stopped  near  a  small  cabin,  where  the  passenger 
alighted.  It  was  our  new  acquaintance,  Mr.  William 
Phillips. 

"  How  is  he  ?"  was  his  first  question,  after  entering 


214  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

the  house  and  seeing  that  his  young  friend  was  all 
ready  to  depart. 

"  Sleeping  quietly,"  was  the  reply.  "  He  will  ride 
like  a  baby.  Have  you  got  plenty  of  pillows  ?" 

"  Everything  you  ordered." 

"  All  right.  Get  your  driver  to  help  us  put  him  into 
the  carriage.  After  that  we  must  obliterate  all  traces 
of  having  been  here,  and  make  sure  there  is  nothing 
left  to  track  us  by." 

The  midnight  train  was  signalled  at  Forest  Hollow, 
and  a  sick  man  and  his  brother  were  given  a  section 
in  the  sleeper.  Before  this,  however,  three  thousand 
dollars  had  been  paid  to  Mr.  Phillips,  and  that  gentle- 
man had  expressed  his  unbounded  regard  for,  and  ap- 
preciation of  the  lad  who  had  saved  him  that  day  from 
committing  a  cowardly  and  brutal  murder. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  train  reached  Macon, 
assistance  was  procured  to  remove  the  sick  man  to  a 
small  hotel,  where  he  was  soon  occupying  a  bed,  and 
his  hurt  was  being  examined  critically  by  Dr.  Rerdell, 
the  ablest  physician  of  the  place. 

"  You  say  that  he  struck  his  head  against  the  plat- 
form on  his  way  to  the  train  ?"  said  the  doctor.  "  It 
is  a  serious  injury,  and  though  his  life  is  in  no  imme- 
diate danger,  grave  complications  may  arise.  You 
had  better  let  me  get  you  a  good  male  nurse,  as  he 
needs  constant  attention.  He  ought  to  recover  enough 
during  the  day  to  speak.  I  expect,  however,  that  his 
first  impressions  will  be  of  a  wandering  character,  and 
shall  not  be  surprised  if  he  is  unreasonable  or  violent. 
The  case  is  peculiar.  He  has  met  with  a  great  shock, 
greater  even  than  I  can  ascribe  to  this  injury  on  the 
head.  But  don't  be  alarmed  ;  we'll  have  him  all  right 
in  time." 

The  male  nurse  came  at  noon  and  proved  him  self  an 
adept  at  his  business.  The  boy  took  the  opportunity 
to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  out  of  doors.  At  five 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  21  5 

o'clock  he  returned  and  sat  by  the  bedside  while  the 
nurse  went  to  supper.  A  few  minutes  later  the  man 
in  the  bed  opened  his  eyes,  and  smiling  very  pleas- 
antly into  the  boy's  face,  said  in  a  natural  voice  : 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Charlie  Leslie,  sir.     And  yours  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  sick  man,  with  a  broader 
smile,  which  almost  became  a  laugh.  He  paused  a 
minute.  "  I  think  my  name  is  Bird  &  Bird,  but  I'm 
not  sure.  If  it  is,  I'm  a  lawyer,  and  my  office  is  at  the 
Astor  House.  Ha  !  ha  !" 

When  the  boy  had  summoned  the  nurse,  the  sick 
man  was  asleep  again,  and  lay  as  quietly  as  though  he 
were  in  perfect  health. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HECTOR  GREYBURN  had  a  wonderful  constitution. 
Few  men  would  have  survived  the  injuries  which  he 
sustained.  That  even  he  did  it  seems  little  short  of 
miraculous.  In  falling  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff  he 
struck  first  upon  his  shoulders  and  side,  and  the 
wound  in  his  forehead  was  caused  by  a  rebound 
which  threw  him  against  a  sharp,  projecting  rock. 
He  was  unconscious  before  he  realized  that  he  had 
fallen.  His  roll  down  the  hill  bruised  and  scratched 
him,  but  did  him  no  serious  injury.  The  splash  in 
the  cold  water  of  Rapid  River,  instead  of  adding  to  his 
hurt,  really  did  much  at  first  to  aid  his  recovery.  The 
coolness  of  the  water  tempered  the  fever  which  would 
otherwise  have  filled  his  veins.  The  rush  of  the 
stream  was  so  great  that  he  was  swept  forward  too 
rapidly  to  have  his  breathing  organs  much  endan- 
gered. Had  he  bepn  rescued  within  a  hundred  yards 


2l6  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

of  the  place  where  he  fell,  the  amount  of  water  which 
he  had  inhaled  would  have  hurt  him  but  little.  Every 
yard  after  that  lessened  his  chances  of  recovery,  and, 
had  he  remained  much  longer  at  the  mercy  of  the 
torrent,  our  story  would  have  ended  at  this  point. 

Dr.  Rerdell  knew,  with  the  intuition  of  a  skilled 
surgeon,  that  something  more  than  the  cut  on  the 
forehead  must  have  occurred  to  cause  the  condition 
in  which  he  found  his  patient,  but  as  he  had  no  reason 
to  doubt  that  the  statement  of  young  Leslie  embraced 
all  he  knew  about  the  matter,  the  good  doctor  kept 
his  suspicions  to  himself.  He  visited  the  sick  man 
twice  every  day  and  held  subdued  talks  with  the 
nurse,  whose  name  was  Thompson,  and  who  proved 
himself  a  very  valuable  assistant.  Thompson  was 
one  of  those  men  to  whom  sleep  and  rest  are  super- 
fluities. He  remained  the  whole  of  each  afternoon  and 
night  with  his  patient,  and  only  relinquished  his  post 
for  a  few  hours  in  the  morning,  when  Charlie  took 
his  place.  Even  then  the  nurse  was  in  an  adjoining 
room,  where  he  could  be  called  at  a  moment's  notice 
if  necessary. 

Charlie  Leslie  was  a  remarkable  youth,  as  his  con- 
duct in  this  affair  would  of  itself  abundantly  prove. 
He  was  a  slender  little  fellow,  of  a  pale  and  striking 
countenance,  and  might  be  taken  to  be  anywhere  be- 
tween twelve  and  fourteen  years  of  age.  When  he 
sat  at  rest  by  Greyburn's  bedside  he  hardly  looked 
more  than  the  former  figure,  while  the  intelligence 
which  he  showed  in  his  contact  with  Phillips  and  in 
his  dealings  with  the  doctor  and  the  hotel  people, 
seemed  fully  commensurate  with  the  supposition  that 
he  had  even  passed  the  latter.  His  perfect  self-pos- 
session and  the  easy  way  in  which  he  assumed  the 
duties  of  his  position  were  the  subject  of  admiring 
criticisms  on  the  part  of  all  who  had  occasion  to  note 
them.  He  had  taken  the  money  left  after  settling 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  21  / 

\vith  Phillips  and  secreted  it  about  his  person.  When 
necessary  to  change  a  large  bill  he  would  go  to  some 
banking-house  to  do  it,  rather  than  excite  comment  at 
the  hotel.  He  insisted  on  settling  daily  for  every- 
thing, and  could  not  be  turned  from  his  purpose,  giv- 
ing as  a  reason  that  he  might  have  to  leave  at  any 
moment  upon  the  receipt  of  .expected  news. 

Within  a  day  or  two  of  his  arrival  he  found  the  fol- 
lowing in  one  of  the  Macon  papers  : 

PROBABLE  MURDER. — THE  GUILTY  PARTY  ARRESTED. 

JOHNSBURY,  Sept.  22. — Last  Friday  a  resident  of 
Chatham  found  a  badly  wounded  man  on  the  roadside 
leading  along  the  Chatham  Cliffs.  A  bullet  had  passed 
through  his  throat,  paralyzing  the  vocal  organs  and 
rendering  him  otherwise  helpless.  He  was  brought 
to  Chatham  Corners.  Subsequent  developments 
showed  that  a  gentleman  who  was  visiting  at  the  Cor- 
ners has  disappeared,  and  the  wounded  man  has  made 
a  written  confession  of  murdering  the  other.  How  he 
received  his  own  wound  is  a  mystery,  as  he  cannot 
talk  and  refuses  to  explain  by  writing.  Vigorous 
search  has  not  resulted  in  discovering  the  body,  which 
was  probably  swept  out  to  sea.  The  arrested  man  is 
named  Dinsmore.  Both  he  and  his  victim  came  from 
somewhere  in  the  Northern  States,  and  are  not  known 
hereabouts.  The  affair  has  created  quite  an  excite- 
ment in  this  usually  quiet  locality.  The  murderer  can 
survive  his  own  wound  but  a  few  days. 

Charlie  read  this  paragraph  with  a  good  deal  of 
interest,  as  it  was  a  partial  clue  to  what  he  sought. 
He  could  not  doubt  that  the  man  whom  he  had  rescued 
was  the  one  referred  to.  The  place,  the  time,  and  the 
tell-tale  bullet-hole  in  the  pocket,  all  pointed  to  one 
conclusion. 

"  Probably  the  other  one  struck  this  man  with  some 
heavy  weapon  and  threw  him  over  the  cliffs,"  he  said 


2l8  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

to  himself.  "  Then,  when  the  body  fell,  the  hammer 
of  the  revolver  struck  something  and  sent  a  bullet 
through  the  murderer's  throat.  It  was  a  marvellous 
but  just  retribution.  With  such  a  wound  he  will  never 
live  long  enough  for  a  trial."  ^ 

The  next  morning,  when  Thompson  was  out  of  the 
room,  Charlie  again  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
light  of  intelligence  beam  into  the  eyes  of  the  sick 
man.  Again  he  asked  his  name,  and  on  being  told, 
gratified  his  questioner  by  answering  :  "  Oh,  yes,  you 
told  me  that  before."  In  response  to  an  inquiry  re- 
garding his  own  name,  the  sick  man  hesitated  a  little, 
knitting  his  brows  as  if  in  puzzled  thought. 

"  I'm  not  sure,"  he  said,  presently.  "  It  couldn't 
be  John  Dinsmore,  could  it  ?  If  it  is,  I  am  a  black- 
smith and  I  live  at  Springdale." 

The  lad  caught  eagerly  at  this  answer. 

"  And  if  your  name  is  Diusmore,  you  threw  a  man 
over  the  cliff  at  Chatham  last  week.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  sick  man,  promptly.  "  I  did  not 
throw  him.  He  fell.  He  shot  me  first  with  his  re- 
volver. That  is,  if  my  name  is  Dinsmore,  which  I 
hardly  believe.  I  say,  what  is  my  name  ?  You  ought 
to  know." 

He  looked  eagerly  at  the  lad. 

"  Think  again,"  entreated  Charlie.  You  were  hurt, 
cut,  nearly  drowned.  Where  did  you  live  ?  What 
did  they  call  you  there  ?  You  must  remember." 

He  waited  with  impatience  for  a  reply. 

"  It's  strange  I  can't"  said  Greyburn.  Could  it  be 
Jacob  Mendall  ?  Am  I  a  banker  with  an  office  on 
Wall  street  ?  I  don't  believe  I  am,  and  yet  every 
name  I  can  think  of  sounds  just  as  unreasonable.  If 
I  could  get  up  and  go  out  of  doors  I  could  find  plenty 
of  people  who  know  me.  Let  me  ride  down  to  City 
Hall  and  I  can  tell  you  very  soon." 

"What  City  Hall  ?"  asked  Leslie, 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  219 

"  Why,  down-town,  of  course.  Near  the  Astor 
House.  Don't  you  know  where  City  Hall  is  ?" 

"You  are  very  much  mistaken,"  said  the  lad. 
"  We  are  in  Georgia.  Now  let  me  tell  you  your  name. 
You  are  Henry  M.  Leslie.  I  am  your  brother  Char- 
lie." 

"  Henry  M.  Leslie  ?"  repeated  the  sick  man,  with  a 
vacant  stare.  "Are  you  sure?" 

"  Quite,"  said  Charlie. 

"  And  you  are  my  brother  ?" 

"Yes." 

Greyburn  lay  quiet  for  several  minutes.  "  You  are 
quite  certain  that  my  name  is  Leslie  ?"  he  said. 

"Positive,"  said  Charlie.  "Do  not  forget  it  again. 
The  doctor  will  ask  you  when  he  comes  and  will  con- 
sider it  a  good  sign  if  you  answer  rightly.  I  am  very 
anxious  that  he  should  think  you  are  recovering,  as  I 
want  to  get  you  out  of  doors." 

"  Whose  house  is  this  ?"  said  the  sick  man,  looking 
about  the  chamber. 

"  It  is  a  hotel.    You  were  hurt  as  we  were  traveling." 

Tired  out  with  the  long  conversation,  Greyburn  re- 
lapsed into  silence.  When  the  doctor  came  in  the 
afternoon,  Charlie  said  : 

"  My  brother  is  gaining  fast.  He  knows  his  name 
to-day." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  asked  Dr.  Rerdell,  taking 
his  patient  by  the  hand  and  applying  his  fingers  to 
his  wrist. 

"  Henry  M.  Leslie,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  asked  the  cautious 
man  of  medicine. 

"  He  told  me,"  said  Greyburn,  pointing  to  the  boy. 

"  You  did  not  remember  it  youself  ?" 

"  No." 

"  But  you  remember  it  now  ?"  said  Charlie.  "  There 
is  no  mistake  ?" 


220  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"  Y-e-s,"said  the  sick  man,  rather  faintly.  "  I — re- 
member — it — now." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  a  little  and  wrote  some 
orders  for  Thompson.  When  the  medical  man  left 
the  room  Charlie  went  with  him. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?"  asked  the  boy,  when  they 
were  out  of  sight  of  their  patient. 

"  He  has  not  gained  as  much  as  you  believe,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,"  said  Dr.  Rerdell.  "  Indeed,  I  am  more 
discouraged  than  I  have  hitherto  been.  It  is  evident 
that  he  remembers  nothing.  He  takes  your  word 
that  his  name  is  Leslie,  as  he  would  if  you  told  him  it 
was  Jenkins  or  Williamson.  That  shows  a  bad  con- 
dition of  the  brain,  which  it  may  take  a  long  time  to 
remedy.  Physically,  he  is  coming  around  fast.  Within 
a  week  he  can  probably  ride  out  with  safety.  But 
mentally  his  gain  is  slow.  It  may  take  a  long  time 
before  he  is  wholly  rational." 

Before  a  week  had  elapsed  they  took  Greyburn  out 
in  a  carriage  and  drove  into  the  suburbs.  The 
ride  invigorated  him  so  much  that  they  had  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  him  from  getting  out  to  pick  some 
flowers  which  he  saw  by  the  road-side.  In  the  even- 
ing he  was  not  easily  persuaded  that  he  ought  to 
retire  early.  After  that,  they  allowed  him  to  be 
dressed  at  breakfast  time,  and  to  sit  up  until  nine  or 
ten  at  night.  He  began  to  eat  his  meals  with  relish, 
and  to  a  stranger  he  bore  few  traces  of  his  severe  ill- 
ness, other  than  a  long,  red  gash  on  his  forehead  and 
the  bruises  and  discolorations  on  his  face.  At  first  he, 
wore  a  bandage  about  his  head,  but  as  the  wound  was 
not  one  which  required  stitches,  this  was  soon  re^ 
moved.  Thompson  was  still  retained,  as  it  was  felt 
that  Greyburn  should  never  be  left  alone,  but  he 
came  and  went  about  as  he  pleased.  He  did  not  seem 
to  desire  to  go  far  from  the  hotel,  except  when  riding, 
and  paid  very  little  attention  to  what  he  saw. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  221 

Among  the  articles  which  Charlie  had  found  in 
Greyburn's  pockets  was  a  photograph  of  himself, 
taken  within  a  few  months.  The  boy  had  given  it  a 
hasty  glance  and  then,  not  thinking  that  it  was  the 
likeness  of  any  person  he  had  ever  seen,  had  laid  it 
away  again.  One  day,  after  Grey  burn's  partial  re- 
covery, he  bethought  himself  of  this  picture.  They 
were  alone  at  the  time.  Charlie  never  tried  these  ex- 
periments before  third  parties.  He  handed  him  the 
photograph  and  waited  to  try  the  effect. 

"Very  good,  don't  you  think  so?"  said  Greyburn, 
after  inspecting  it. 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  said  Charlie. 

"  That's  an  odd  question.     Myself,  to  be  sure." 

"  You  don't  mean  that,  do  you  ?"  said  Charlie,  try- 
ing to  fix  his  attention  again.  "  Think  a  little,  can't 
you  tell  whose  face  that  is  ?" 

Greyburn  surveyed  it  once  more  with  a  critical 
eye. 

"  If  that  is  not  a  picture  of  me,"  he  said,  "  then  I 
don't  know  anything." 

"  Look  in  the  mirror,"  said  Charlie,  turning  to- 
ward a  pier-glass  which  stood  in  the  room.  "  If  that 
person  in  the  photograph  is  you,  who  is  this  man  re- 
flected in  the  glass  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  man,"  said  Greyburn,  after  a 
long  look,  "  but  this  one  in  the  photograph  is  I.  Why, 
it's  clear  enough.  There's  no  doubt  about  it."  He 
walked  away  as  if  bored  with  a  discussion  which 
seemed  useless.  The  lad  compared  him  carefully 
with  the  photograph,  as  he  sat  at  the  window,  looking 
out  upon  the  street. 

"  He  may  be  right,"  he  mused.  "  Those  hurts  and 
the  ordeal  through  which  he  has  gone  have  doubtless 
changed  him  much.  There  is  a  resemblance  to  his 
mouth  here,  and  the  chin  is  much  the  same,  but  his 


222  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

own  mother  wouldn't  recognize  him.  What  a  mys- 
tery this  is  !" 

One  day  when  they  were  alone,  Greyburn  broke 
out  suddenly  : 

"  I  don't  want  to  dispute  you,  Charlie,  for  I  like 
you  very  much,  but  I'm  sure  my  name  is  not  Leslie. 
I  can  think  of  many  things  which  convince  me  you 
are  wrong,  and  some  day  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  all 
about  it.  What  I  wish  to  say  to  you  now  is,  don't  de- 
sert me.  I  have  a  feeling  that  you  are  liable  to  leave 
me  suddenly,  and  it  keeps  me  from  sleeping  well  at 
night.  I  should  be  lost  without  vou.  If  my  head 
ever  gets  clear  again  it  will  be  by  your  aid.  Don't 
leave  me,  will  you  ?" 

"Certainly  I  will  not,"  said  the  lad. 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  pursued  Greyburn,  slowly,  "  that 
I  have  lost  a  lot  of  friends.  I  seem  to  have  had  them, 
and  all  at  once  something  swept  them  away.  I've  got 
money  too,  somewhere,  plenty  of  it.  Stay  with  me 
and  you  shall  lose  nothing." 

The  boy  promised  once  more  that  he  would  not 
leave  him,  and  after  that  Greyburn  seemed  much 
easier  in  his  mind.  One  day  he  asked  : 

"  Have  you  any  father  or  mother  ?" 

"  Neither." 

"  Brother  or  sister  ?" 

"  No  one  in  the  wide  world,"  the  boy  confessed,  un- 
guardedly, with  a  trace  of  sadness  in  his  tone. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Greyburn.  "  Why,  then,  should  we 
ever  separate  ?  Why  should  we  not  always  be 
brothers  ?" 

After  that  Greyburn's  progress  toward  health  was 
so  rapid  that  Dr.  Rerdell  acknowledged  that  further 
delay  iii  proceeding  on  their  journey  was  needless. 

"  I  would  like  to  follow  this  case  to  its  fulfillment," 
he  said  to  Charlie4,  "  but  that  is  no  reason,  why  you 
should  stay  here  all  winter.  If  your  brother  is  used 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  223 

to  the  Northern  climate  he  will  be  better  off  there 
than  here.  Get  the  best  physician  you  can,  wherever 
you  go,  and  I  think  you  may  hope  for  the  best  re- 
sults." 

Within  a  week  Charlie  and  his  friend  were  booked 
at  a  little  hotel  in  the  outskirts  of  the  metropolis  as 
"  Henry  M.  and  Charles  Leslie."  The  careful  Thomp- 
son had  been  brought  along.  Charlie  had  several 
ideas  in  his  mind  which  he  wanted  an  opportunity  to 
work  out,  so  he  left  Greyburn  in  charge  of  Thompson 
one  day  and  took  a  train  for  the  city.  He  had  been 
there  before.  In  a  short  time  he  stood  on  the  steps 
of  the  Astor  House  buildings,  conning  the  directory 
of  offices  at  the  doorway. 

"  That's  all  right  at  least,"  he  said,  comparing 
one  of  the  addresses  with  a  memorandum  in  his 
hand.  "  Bird  &  Bird,  attorneys."  He  ascended  the 
stairs  rather  timidly,  and  knocked  so  faintly  at  the 
lawyer's  door  that  he  had  to  knock  again  before  he 
heard  the  answering  summons  to  enter. 

"  Is  this  the  office  of  Bird  &  Bird  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Of  course,"  said  an  over  smart  boy  of  about  his 
own  age,  who  happened  to  be  the  only  tenant  at  the 
moment.  "  Can't  you  read  ?" 

"  Will  they  be  in  to-day  ?"  pursued  Charlie,  too 
flustered  to  mind  the  sarcasm. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  office  boy.  "  At  least,  Mr. 
John  will.  Mr.  Jason  is  trying  a  case  in  court,  and 
whether  he'll  get  through  or  not  is  more  than  I  can 
tell." 

"  Are  there  any  other  persons  here  of  the  name  of 
Bird  ?"  Charlie  found  courage  to  inquire  further. 

"  Not  a  Bird  !"  replied  the  office  boy,  jocularly. 
"Not  another  feathered  biped  !  Not  a  songster  in 
the  cage  but  just  those  two  !  And  a  pretty  pair  they 
are  !  Owls,  both  of  'em  !  Hawks,  sometimes  !  You 


224  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

may  tell  'em,  if  you  like.  I've  given  my  notice  to 
quit  Saturday,  so  /  don't  care." 

Charlie  went  down  the  stairs  slowly  and  stopped  a 
moment  at  the  base.  A  man  with  a  red  cap,  evidently 
a  messenger,  passed  him  and  awoke  a  new  train  of 
thought. 

"  Here  !"  he  called  to  the  man.  "  You're  a  mes- 
senger, aren't  you  ?" 

"You're  right  there,"  said  he  of  the  cap,  good- 
naturedly. 

"  Could  you  make  a  few  inquiries  for  me  about 
town  and  bring  an  answer  to  this  hotel  ?"  asked 
Charlie,  handing  the  man  a  card  as  he  spoke. 

"  That's  out  of  the  city,"  said  the  man,  "  but  I  sup- 
pose I  can  arrange  it  if  }Tou'll  pay  for  the  trouble.  I 
can  do  your  errands  this  afternoon  and  ride  out  to  see 
you  in  the  evening." 

"Let  me  see.  Perhaps  there  is  no  need  of  that. 
The  places  are  not  very  far  from  here.  You  could  do 
all  I  wish  and  get  back  in  an  hour.  I  will  meet  you, 
say  at  three  o'clock." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  messenger.  "  What  is  to  be 
done  ?" 

"Take  these  names  and  addresses,  go  to  each  place 
described  and  find  out  if  the  man  named  is  there,  or 
if  they  know  where  he  is.  Evade  questioners  the  best 
way  you  can.  Here  is  a  dollar  in  advance.  If  the  job 
is  worth  more  I  will  pay  the  rest  when  you  return. 
Don't  let  it  be  known  who  sent  you.  If  I  wanted  to 
be  seen  in  the  matter  I  should  go  myself." 

Charlie  walked  over  to  a  neighboring  restaurant 
and  got  his  dinner.  He  had  some  time  to  wait,  and 
amused  himself  with  the  daily  papers  until  three 
o'clock,  when  he  returned  to  the  Astor  House  offices. 
The  messenger  came,  punctual  to  the  minute. 

"  I  found  them  all,"  he  said,  drawing  out  his  mem- 
orandum book. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  22$ 

"Jacob  Mendall,  banker,  Wall  street,  was  in  his 
office  this  morning,,  but  has  gone  for  the  day.  The 
clerks  say  he  seldom  returns  after  twelve  o'clock. 

"  Clarence  Perkyns  was  at  the  Metropolitan  Club, 
so  the  porter  informed  me  when  I  rang.  He  offered 
to  call  him,  but  I  said  I  only  wished  to  know,  and  hur- 
ried off. 

"  Harris  R.  Stedman  is  cashier  of  the  bank  I 
went  to." 

Charlie  returned  to  Greyburn  with  all  the  informa- 
tion he  had  expected  to  get,  and  indeed  rather  more  ; 
for  he  had  had  his  doubts  whether  the  names  given 
him  at  various  times  were  not  entirely  fictitious.  It 
was  now  evident  that  his  patient  knew  these  people, 
and  undoubtedly  they  knew  him  also.  How  to  bring 
about  the  desired  result  without  compromising  him- 
self was  getting  to  be  a  serious  question  for  Charlie. 

The  motives  of  the  lad  had  been  pure  from  the 
first.  Had  he  not  agreed  to  let  Bill  Phillips  have  a 
large  part  of  the  money  found  on  Greyburn's  body  it 
is  possible  that  neither  he  nor  his  friend  would  have 
been  alive  now.  The  old  man  was  desperate,  and 
would  certainly  either  have  killed  the  boy  or  been 
killed  by  him,  neither  event  the  most  desirable  that 
could  be  imagined.  To  keep  faith  with  Phillips — a 
thing  which  the  boy  believed  on  his  conscience  he 
must  do — it  was  necessary  to  remove  Gray  burn  from 
the  vicinity  and  to  hide  the  fact  of  his  being  alive,  at 
least  for  the  moment,  from  every  one  at  Johnsbury  or 
Chatham.  Each  day  the  complications  deepened.  The 
money  left  was  being  spent  rather  lavishly,  and  the 
time  when  it  would  all  be  gone  could  not  be  far  off. 
When  the  sick  man's  friends  should  appear  upon  the 
scene  they  would  most  likely  demand  an  account  of 
the  missing  funds.  Whichever  way  Cliarlie  turned 
things  did  not  look  very  promising. 

The   day  after  he  went  into  the   city,  Charlie   took 


226  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

out  the  photograph  again  and  compared  it  with  Grey- 
burn's  face.  It  would  never  pass  for  a  likeness,  and 
yet  there  was  something  in  it  which  convinced  the 
lad  that  his  friend's  story  might  be  true.  All  at  once 
he  noticed  the  name  "  Sarony"  in  bold  letters  on  the 
bottom  of  the  card,  and  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  ex- 
clamation. 

"  What  a  fool  I've  been  !"  he  said  aloud,  "hunting 
for  these  Mendalls  and  Stedmans  and  afraid  to  go 
near  the  police  for  facts,  when  I  can  learn  from  this 
*  photograph  just  what  I  seek.  Sarony  is  in  Union 
Square,  and  he  can  tell  the  name  of  every  picture  he 
ever  made  by  consulting  the  negative.  My  search 
will  soon  be  over  now." 

With  a  gay  air  he  donned  his  hat  and  coat.  Grey- 
burn  sat  idly  in  his  easy  chair,  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  hand.  He  looked  up  when  he  saw  Charlie,  and 
extended  his  hand  with  a  smile. 

"  You'll  not  be  gone  long,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sure  I'll 
be  able  to  tell  who  I  am  to-morrow.  I  sit  here  and 
think,  and  think,  and  just  as  I  am  going  to  speak  my 
name  it  eludes  me.  Don't  stay  any  longer  than  you 
can  help,  Charlie.  What  should  I  ever  do  without 
you  ?" 

Mr.  Sarony  took  the  picture  in  his  hand,  when  the 
lad  presented  it,  and  looked  from  it  to  Charlie  with 
open-eyed  wonder. 

"  What  is  this,  do  you  say  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
guess  you  haven't  been  around  very  much  lately 
when  you  ask  that  question.  Every  police  office  in 
the  country  has  a  copy  of  that  photograph.  Why,  it 
is  that  fellow  who  was  killed  out  there  in  that  South- 
ern place — I  never  can  remember  names " 

"  Georgia  ?"  suggested  the  young  lady  at  the 
counter. 

"That's  it,"  said  Mr.  Sarony.  "And  his  name  was 
— why,  of  course — Lord  !  I  shall  forget  my  own 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  22/ 

name  next — Greyburn.  Why,  of  course — Hector 
Greyburn." 

The  boy  looked  up  into  Sarony's  face,  and  the 
photographer  saw  that  he  was  very  pale.  He  had 
found  a  clue  at  last. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?"  he  asked,  in  tones  scarcely 
audible. 

"Positive,"  said  Sarony,  turning  away.  "If  you 
don't  believe  me  ask  any  one  you  meet  in  the  street. 
Everybody  knows  that  picture  now." 


The  next  morning,  when  Mr.  Jason  Bird  came  to 
his  office,  he  found  that  a  package  had  been  left  there 
for  him.  In  it  were  bank  bills  aggregating  a  little 
over  nineteen  hundred  dollars,  and  a  note  which 
made  him  open  his  eyes  very  wide.  He  remarked  to 
his  office  boy  that  he  might  not  be  back  during  the 
day,  and  took  a  hasty  departure.  Arriving  at  the 
hotel  where  Greyburn  was  staying,  he  asked  to  be 
shown  to  the  room  where  he  was.  Thompson  an- 
swered his  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Can  I  see  Mr.  Henry  M.  Leslie  ?" 

"Certainly;  walk  in,"  said  Thompson,  looking  at 
the  lawyer  with  some  surprise.  He  was  their  first 
visitor. 

Greyburn  rose  at  the  sound  of  his  new  name  and 
came  forward  to  shake  hands  with  the  lawyer.  As  he 
did  so  a  light  seemed  to  dawn  upon  him.  Before 
speaking  to  Mr.  Bird  he  asked  Thompson  to  leave 
them  alone,  and  the  nurse  somewhat  doubtfully  com- 
plied. 

"You  know  me,  I  see,"  said  the  attorney. 

?'  You  are  Mr.  Jason  Bird,  of  Bird  &  Bird,  lawyers, 
Astor  House  offices,"  replied  Greyburn,  promptly. 

"  And  who  are  you  ?" 

"  I  am  Hector  Greyburn." 


228  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

Both  men  laughed  heartily. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  been  up  to  ?"  said  the  lawyer, 
taking  a  chair.  "Falling  off  of  precipices  and  that 
sort  of  thing,  eh  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Greyburn.  "I  haven't  the 
slightest  idea  of  anything,  except  that  we  are  here  in 
this  room  and  that  I  have  recovered  my  senses  after 
days  of  aberration.  I  owe  much  to  a  young  boy  who 
has  been  with  me  and  seen  that  a  doctor,  nurse  and 
every  other  necessity  was  provided.  He  went  off  last 
night  and  has  not  yet  returned.  His  name  is  Charlie — 
Charlie  Leslie.  Really,  I  owe  him  everything." 

It  was  several  days  afterward  that  Mr.  Jason  Bird 
showed  Greyburn  the  note  which  he  got  with  that 
package.  It  contained  a  good  deal  of  interesting  mat- 
ter, but  nothing  which  compensated  for  the  closing 
lines  •- 

"  You  will  tell  Mr.  Greyburn  that  I  shall  go  far 
away  and  never  see  him  again.  He  probably  will  not 
care  enough  about  it  to  search  for  me,  but  if  he  should 
it  will  be  useless.  Under  no  circumstances  can  I  ever 
return  to  him." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WHEN  Clara  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  told  that 
Dinsmore  had  confessed  to  murdering  her  husband, 
she  was  plunged  into  the  deepest  melancholy.  Bit- 
terly she  reproached  herself  with  being  the  real 
cause  of  Hector's  death,  for  had  she  been  in  a  wife's 


THOU   SHALT  NOT*  229 

true  place,  he  would  not  have  sallied  forth  alone  on 
that  fatal  morning.  The  long  train  of  his  plot  against 
her  was  forgotten.  She  remembered  only  the  last 
three  weeks  of  his  life,  and  the  horror  of  his  death. 

The  blacksmith  was  securely  under  lock  and  key 
at  Johnsbury.  Every  effort  to  get  further  particulars 
of  the  tragedy  had  been  fruitless.  The  grand  jury 
brought  in  an  indictment  against  him,  and  a  rising 
young  lawyer  of  the  count}7,  Mr.  Darby  Spencer, 
was  assigned  as  his  counsel.  Mr.  Spencer  labored 
with  all  his  might  to  get  something  from  his  client 
which  he  could  use  in  his  defense,  but  Dinsmore  con- 
tinued obstinate.  The  most  that  he  could  be  got  to 
say,  in  his  cramped  chirography,  was  that  the  sooner 
they  hanged  him  the  better  he  should  like  it,  and 
that,  if  Mr.  Spencer  really  wanted  to  act  the  part  of 
a  friend,  he  could  best  show  it  by  making  the  pro- 
ceedings preliminary  to  that  end  as  brief  as  possible. 

Taking  warning  by  the  statements  of  Dr.  Robinson, 
the  prison  officials  kept  a  constant  watch  to  prevent 
Dinsmore  from  committing  suicide.  Since  he  had 
heard  Clara  declare  her  love  for  Greyburn,  life  had 
become  utterly  insupportable.  He  tried  to  bribe 
each  keeper,  offering  to  exchange  orders  on  several 
savings  banks  in  Connecticut,  or  a  deed  of  some  real 
property  he  owned  in  Springdale,  for  a  weapon  of 
any  kind  and  five  minutes  relief  from  surveillance. 
After  exhausting  all  his  efforts  in  making  these  pro- 
posals intelligible,  he  received  the  refusals  savagely, 
and  declined  for  days  to  communicate  with  any  one. 
It  was  with  difficulty  that  they  made  him  eat  his 
food.  Had  they  not  used  actual  force  at  one  time, 
his  soul  would  have  left  his  body  by  the  certain  road 
of  starvation. 

Mr.  Darby  Spencer  did  not  get  much  to  encourage 
him  in  the  neighborhood  of  Johnsbury.  One  day  he 
took  a  drive  to  Chatham  Corners,  and  found  Mrs. 


230  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

Greyburn.  She  had  been,  with  clue  care,  bound  over 
in  a  formal  manner  to  appear  as  a  witness  at  the  com- 
ing trial,  and  would  have  found  escape  from  the 
vicinity  hazardous,  if  not  impossible,  even  had  she 
desired  to  attempt  it,  which  in  fact  she  did  not.  The 
world  was  all  alike  to  her  in  her  widowhood.  The 
quietness  of  the  Corners  was  no  objection  to  one  who 
had  passed  the  whole  of  her  life  in  the  country.  Here 
she  had  seen  Greyburn  last,  and  here  she  expected  to 
hear  the  first  news  of  him,  if  news  ever  came.  Mrs. 
Baldwin  seemed  very  like  a  mother  since  her  misfor- 
tune, and  Clara  would  have  shrunk  from  new  scenes 
and  people  so  soon. 

Mr.  Spencer  revealed  the  nature  of  his  errand  with 
rare  tact.  He  was  pleased  to  find  that  while  the  men- 
tion of  her  husband's  assailant  brought  a  flood  of 
tears,  it  brought  with  them  no  sign  of  vindictiveness. 
Little  by  little  he  drew  from  her  what  she  knew  of 
Dinsmore,  and  what  she  had  reason  to  suppose  had 
actuated  him  in  the  deed  he  had  committed. 

"You  would  call  it  jealousy,  I  presume,"  he  said. 

'  Perhaps  that  would  express  it,"  replied  Clara, 
"  and  yet  not  in  the  usual  sense.  John  was  a  man 
when  I  was  a  child,  and  he  always  seemed  to  like  me 
better  than  he  did  any  one  else.  When  Mr.  Greyburn 
first  came  to  Springdale,  John  took  an  aversion  to  him. 
We  had  several  talks  in  which  John  expressed  himself 
strongly.  One  night,  when  Mr,  Greyburn  called  to 
see  me,  John  waited  outside  and  they  had  trouble. 
He  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  my  protector,  and  was 
always  fearful  lest  I  should  come  to  some  harm." 

"  You  had  no  idea  that  he  would  come  here  ?"  said 
Mr.  Spencer. 

"  None  in  the  world.  Mr.  Greyburn  and  I  were 
married  very  hastily  and  privately,  for — for  various 
reasons — and  no  one  was  told  where  we  were  going. 
Indeed,  I  am  sure  my  husband  made  special  efforts 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  231 

that  our  destination  should  not  be  known.  The  fact 
that  John  traced  us  shows  how  determined  he  was  to 
find  him." 

"  Is  it  not  probable,"  suggested  the  lawyer,  "  that 
Mr.  Dinsmore  had  no  definite  purpose  of  harming  your 
husband,  and  that  a  hasty  quarrel  sprang  up  between 
them  when  they  met  ?" 

Clara  shook  her  head. 

"  I  would  like  to  believe  all  the  good  I  can  of  John, 
but  that  does  not  seem  possible.  He  never  hunted  out 
our  hiding  place  with  a  good  motive.  Besides,  he 
used  to  be  the  most  peaceful  man  in  the  world,  and 
here  he  was  armed  with  a  heavy  pistol.  No,  no  ! 
He  came  from  New  York  to  kill  Hector,  and  succeeded 
only  too  well  in  his  object." 

"  Your  husband  had  a  pistol,  also.  Was  he  in  the 
habit  of  carrying  such  a  weapon  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know  that  he  was,"  said  Clara.  "  In 
fact,  I  know  almost  nothing  about  his  habits  in  such 
things.  He  would  not  have  told  me  for  fear  that  I 
should  be  alarmed.  It  is  a  terrible  mystery,  and 
the  more  I  study  the  less  I  can  fathom  it." 

"  You  know  the  law,"  said  Mr.  Spencer,  gravely. 
"You  know  the  penalty  of  homicide.  This  man,  you 
tell  me,  was  the  friend  of  your  childhood.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  he  entertained  a  deeper  feeling  for  you  than 
friendship  when  you  became  a  woman.  No,  do  not 
protest.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  your  unac- 
cepted and  hopeless  lover.  When  he  found  that  you 
had  wedded  another  his  sense  of  the  injury  was  so 
strong  that  it  overbore  his  natural  qualities.  He 
came  here  in  order  to  be  where  he  could  see  you,  and 
meeting  your  husband,  there  was  an  altercation.  One 
was  killed  instantly,  the  other  reserved  for  lingering 
agony.  Mrs.  Greyburn,  do  you  wish  John  Dinsmore 
hanged  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !"  cried  Clara.     "  His  punishment  already 


232  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

is  terrible.  I  hope  no  more  blood  will  be  shed  in  this 
unhappy  affair.  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  aid  you  in  sav- 
ing his  life.  Would  that  you  might  also  give  me  back 
my  husband  !" 

The  lawyer  waited  respectfully  until  the  outburst 
of  grief  which  followed  this  remark  had  abated,  and 
then  said  : 

"  The  best  help  you  can  give  me  is  to  go  at  once  to 
the  jail  and  see  Dinsmore.  I  know  it  will  be  hard," 
he  added,  as  he  saw  her  instinctive  aversion  to  the 
proposal,  "  but  it  may  be  the  means  of  saving  his  neck 
from  the  rope.  If  he  can  only  be  got  into  a  frame  of 
mind  where  he  wishes  to  be  saved,  it  will  be  worth 
everything.  As  long  as  he  insists  that  he  had  rather 
be  executed  it  is  not  easy  to  do  much  for  him." 

Clara  agreed,  though  with  some  inward  struggles, 
to  be  at  Mr.  Spencer's  office  the  next  morning  at 
eleven  o'clock,  and  at  the  hour  she  alighted  from  a 
carriage  at  his  door,  in  company  with  Mrs.  Baldwin. 
They  all  walked  over  to  the  jail  and  were  soon  ushered 
into  Dinsmore's  cell.  He  was  totally  unprepared  for 
their  coming,  and  when  he  saw  Clara  he  gave  a  cry  of 
agony  and  resolutely  turned  his  face  away. 

"John,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  could  command  her 
trembling  voice,  and  acting  as  by  previous  instruction, 
"  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  here.  We  did  not  think 
in  those  happy  days  at  Springdale  that  we  should 
ever  meet  like  this." 

She  paused  to  get  strength,  for  her  voice  had 
trembled  violently  on  the  last  words.  The  prisoner 
turned  still  more  away,  but  the  lawyer  could  see  from 
where  he  stood  that  the  muscles  of  his  face  stood  out 
like  whipcords  and  that  the  perspiration  was  standing 
in  beads. 

"  You  have  been  badly  hurtjohn,"  continued  Clara, 
after  a  pause,  "and  I  know  whose  hand  inflicted  the 
injury.  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  Then  she  gave 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  233 

up  all  attempt  at  coherence  and  broke  out  wildly  and 
passionately,  "  Oh,  John  !  John  !  Why  did  you  kill 
him  ?  What  had  he  done  to  you  ?  What  had  /  done 
to  make  you  take  the  dearest  thing  out  of  my  life  ?" 

The  prisoner  turned  his  white  face  toward  the 
group.  In  every  eye  but  his  there  were  glistening 
drops.  He  looked  more  like  a  corpse  than  a  living 
creature,  and  he  showed  that  each  motion  caused  him 
a  painful  effort.  In  the  sign-language,  which  was 
now  his  only  resource,  he  asked  for  pencil  and  paper. 
After  it  was  given  him,  he  waited  for  some  time  be- 
fore using  it,  as  if  the  flood  of  his  emotions  was  too 
great  to  permit  him  to  proceed.  Mrs.  Baldwin  took 
Clara  in  her  lap  and  laid  her  head  on  her  motherly 
shoulder.  The  jailer  and  one  attendant  stood  near. 
Jtfr.  Spencer  waited  anxiously  for  the  expected  com- 
munication. Slowly  and  painfully  it  came  : 

"  I  must  tell  the  truth.  The  God  he  had  never  hon- 
ored took  Hector  Greyburn's  life." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it,"  said  the  lawyer,  en- 
couragingly. "  Tell  me  now  why  you  stated  d'f- 
ferently  to  Squire  Jarvis." 

The  prisoner  wrote  again  : 

"  I  was  desperate." 

"  Perfectly  reasonable,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  You 
were  much  excited  and  under  great  physical  pain. 
But  how  dY^Greyburn  perish  ?  Tell  me  in  brief  now 
and  we  will  get  the  fuller  particulars  later." 

The  prisoner  wrote  : 

"  He  shot  me,  near  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  He  stepped 
backward,  slipped  and  fell.  He  rolled  into  the  river." 

Dinsmore  watched  with  an  eager  eye  the  effect  of 


234  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

these  revelations  upon  Clara.  When  Mr.  Spencer 
read  the  last  one  aloud  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Why  should  Hector  have  shot  you,  unless  you  first 
assaulted  him  ?" 

Dinsmore  wrote  once  more  : 

"We  were  both  armed.  He  fired  from  his  pocket. 
We^had  had  words." 

"  You  had  best  go  now,"  said  Mr.  Spencer  in  a  low 
tone  to  Clara,  after  he  had  read  the  last  effort.  "  I 
have  the  clue  and  believe  I  can  save  him.  His  own 
confession  is  the  only  evidence  against  him." 

After  the  others  had  gone,  Mr.  Spencer  addressed 
Dinsmore  : 

"  This  Greyburn  was  a  scoundrel." 

The  prisoner  assented  unmistakably. 

"  You  pursued  him  because  you  knew  he  had  taken 
an  unfair  advantage." 

Again  the  prisoner  assented. 

"  When  you  met  you  were  both  armed.  He  fired  a 
cowardly  shot  from  his  pocket,  and  the  judgment  of 
Heaven  took  him  to  his  account." 

Dinsmore  pantomimically  corroborated  the  de- 
scription. 

"  You  don't  propose  to  allow  them  to  hang  you  for 
a  thing  like  this  ?"  said  the  lawyer.  "  You've  been  a 
little  desperate,  but  you're  all  over  that.  I'm  going 
to  get  you  out  of  this  scrape  and  I  must  have  your 
aid." 

The  blacksmith  looked  undecided. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  this  pencil  and  paper  and 
write  down,  slowly  and  carefully,  all  that  you  can 
remember  in  relation  to  this  affair.  Give  me  dates, 
places,  names  of  persons,  everything  which  I  can  use. 
The  fact  is,  there  is  no  evidence  against  you  yet  at  all. 
They  can't  even  prove  that  the  man  is  dead,  as  no 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  235 

one  has  seen  the  body.  Be  a  man,  Dinsmore  !  You 
are  good  for  many  a  year  of  life  yet.  Don't  let  them 
down  you  on  this  lay,  whatever  you  do  !" 

The  blacksmith  seemed  at  last  to  agree  with  the 
lawyer's  words.  He  caught  up  his  pencil  and  wrote  : 

'  I  will  do  as  you  say.     Come  to-morrow." 

At  the  January  term  of  the  Supreme  Court  the 
trial  took  place.  The  court-room  was  crowded.  The 
evidence  for  the  prosecution  was  put  in  with  great 
care.  It  was  shown  to  the  jury  that  the  accused  had 
for  a  long  time  held  a  grudge  against  Greyburn.  His 
actions  at  the  time  Jones  discovered  him  were  detailed 
at  length.  His  written  confessions,  in  which  he 
acknowledged  the  crime  and  expressed  his  willingness 
to  be  hanged  for  it,  were  not  forgotten.  His  subse- 
quent affidavits,  carefully  drawn  and  sworn  to,  could 
not  have  the  weight  of  his  admissions  before  seeing 
counsel.  The  jailers  told  how  he  had  tried  to  commit 
suicide.  Everything  which  pointed  to  his  guilt  was 
spread  before  the  court.  To  meet  this  Mr.  Spencer 
had  to  rely  upon  the  fact  that  his  opponents  could 
really  prove  nothing  more  than  that  a  man  had  dis- 
appeared, and  that  a  hat,  some  cloth  and  a  button, 
which  looked  like  his,  had  been  found. 

The  trial  lasted  several  days.  An  end  of  the  evi- 
dence was  reached  at  last,  and  Mr.  Spencer  began  his 
plea  for  the  defense. 

"  Your  honor  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  we  have 
here  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  cases  ever  brought 
before  a  jury  in  this  or  any  other  country.  On  a 
certain  day  of  last  September  a  man  was  found 
grievously  wounded  about  a  mile  westerly  from 
Chatham.  A  bullet  had  passed  through  his  throat  in 
such  a  locality  that,  we  have  the  word  of  medical 
men  of  repute,  had  it  varied  its  course  by  a  quarter 
of  an  inch,  this  trial  would  have  been  rendered  a 


236  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

superfluity.  This  man,  so  wounded,  was  found  by 
a  passer-by  and  conveyed  to  the  village  of  Chatham 
Corners.  So  severe  were  his  injuries  that  he  could 
not  move  without  assistance,  and  could  not,  nor  can  he 
to-day,  speak  a  single  intelligible  word.  In  that 
state,  one  we  must  all  agree  of  such  a  nature  as  to 
call  for  the  sincerest  pity  of  every  creature  worthy 
the  name  of  human,  he  was  within  two  hours  clapped 
into  a  vehicle  and  taken  post-haste  to  this  town, 
where  the  iron  doors  of  the  county  jail  received  him. 
Let  us  see  on  what  pretense. 

"  The  person  who  found  this  wounded  body  found 
also— as  he  tells  us,  and  I  don't  dispute  him — a  hat,  a 
piece  of  cloth  and  a  button.  He  found  indentations 
in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  which  might  have  been 
made  by  the  rolling  over  it  of  a  heavy  substance.  On 
reaching  Chatham  the  discoverer  of  these  wonderful 
objects  heard  that  a  person  that  had  been  boarding  at 
the  hotel  there  was  missing.  He  found  also  that  he 
was  said  to  have  worn  a  hat,  a  suit  and  buttons  cor- 
responding to  those  discovered.  The  wife  of  the 
missing  man,  with  other  people,  went  to  the  office  of 
the  local  physician,  where  this  poor,  helpless  creature 
lay,  and  under  the  guidance  of  a  justice  of  the  peace, 
they  proceeded  to  hold  a  court  of  inquest.  When  the 
wife  came  to  testify,  she  was  so  affected  as  to  swoon 
away,  and  while  they  were  restoring  her,  they  allege 
that  a  confession  of  murder  was  extracted  from  my 
client. 

"  You  have  seen  the  documents,  and  I  do  not  dis- 
pute that  they  were  written  by  the  defendant.  They 
are  produced  as  damming  pieces  of  evidence,  and  will 
be  dilated  upon  with  great  emphasis  when  my 
brother,  the  Attorney-General,  gets  the  floor.  In 
order  to  save  his  valuable  time  we  admit  them  to  be 
genuine.  And  we  shall  show  you  exactly  how  they 
came  to  be  written,  and  how  perfectly  consistent  they 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  •  237 

are  with  the  entire  innocence  of  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar." 

Mr.  Spencer  went  on  to  give  the  history  of  the  ac- 
quaintance which  grew  up  between  Clara  and  Walter 
Campbell  and  Hector  Greyburn.  He  represented 
the  latter  as  a  prince  of  villains,  bent  on  the  destruc- 
tion of  both  sister  and  brother.  He  sketched  their 
connection  down  through  its  varied  stages,  until  the 
infamy  was  completed  at  the  Hotel  Hampden.  Then 
he  spoke  of  Dinsmore,  the  honest,  hard-working  me- 
chanic, the  friend  of  their  childhood,  giving  up  his 
business  and  going  from  place  to  place  to  watch  over 
the  orphans  of  his  old  friend.  At  last  he  met  the 
man  who  had  ruined  their  peace,  and  received  in  his 
own  throat  the  bullet,  more  kindly  than  the  deceptive 
tongue  and  the  seductive  glance.  But  at  the  moment 
of  Greyburn's  triumph,  the  All-Seeing  Eye  was  upon 
him,  and  he  fell  over  the  rocks  and  sands  into  the 
river  below.  If  he  was  alive,  God  only  could  tell,  but 
if  dead,  he  passed  at  that  moment  of  his  life  when  all 
his  sins  clustered  most  ihickly  around  his  head. 

"  They  took  the  body  of  John  Dinsmore,  himself 
nearly  dead,"  said  Mr.  Spencer,  in  conclusion,  "  and 
brought  it  to  Chatham.  What  do  you  suppose  passed 
in  the  mind  of  the  stricken  man  in  that  hour  ?  The 
woman  for  whom  he  lay  writhing  in  agony  was  sure 
to  misconstrue  his  devotion,  and  though  innocent  as 
a  babe  in  its  cradle,  dark  suspicion  would  point  its 
finger  at  him.  What  had  he  to  live  for  ?  They  handed 
him  the  paper  and  he  wrote,  '  I  did  it  !  take  me  away, 
hang  me,  anything  !'  Gentlemen,  this  is  not  evidence. 
Put  yourself,  in  his  place  ;  half  insane  from  mental 
and  physical  pain  ;  dreading  to  face  the  tearful  coun- 
tenance of  a  woman  wildly  loved  and  woefully  lost. 
My  client  is  innocent.  They  have  not  attempted  to 
prove  that  he  killed  this  Greyburn,  they  have  not 
proved  that  the  man  is  dead,  but  I  mistake  a  Georgia 


238  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

jury  if  it  would  not  say,  even  if  the  body  of  this  miss- 
ing man  lay  before  it,  that  his  fate  was  just.  We  dis- 
pute the  killing,  we  question  the  death  ;  but  if  you  can 
say  on  your  oaths  as  men  and  jurors  that  this  maimed 
and  crippled  creature  took  the  life  of  the  man  who  so 
wronged  him  and  his,  I  pray  you  consider  well  before 
you  make  such  an  act  into  a  capital  offense." 

The  Attorney-General  was  about  to  begin  his  reply, 
when  a  slight,  pale-faced  boy,  who  had  just  edged  his 
way,  as  only  a  boy  can,  through  the  crowd,  cried  out  : 

"  Let  me  testify  !  I  know  all  about  it.  The  man 
is  not  dead.  He  is  in  New  York  city.  I  left  him 
there  a  week  ago." 

The  excitement  which  this  created  in  the  court- 
room can  be  imagined.  The  lad  was  taken  to  the 
clerk's  desk  and  sworn,  even  the  Attorney-General 
being  too  much  taken  aback  to  ask  for  delay. 

The  boy  said  :  "  My  name  is  Charlie  Leslie.  Last 
September  I  was  walking  one  day  from  Medway  to 
Johnsbury.  It  was  early  in  the  morning.  About  a 
mile  from  Chatham,  which  I  had  passed  through,  I 
heard  a  noise  down  by  the  river,  and  on  going  closer 
I  saw  a  man  bending  over  what  appeared  to  be  a 
dead  bod)7.  In  the  man's  hands  were  papers  and 
money.  As  I  watched  him  I  saw  him  look  up  and 
down  the  stream,  and  then  begin  to  drag  the  body 
toward  the  river.  Being  alone,  I  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  called  out  '  Stop  !'  and  ran  toward 
him. 

"  He  ceased  his  work  and  began  to  excuse  himself. 
I  prevailed  on  him  to  help  me  save  the  life  in  that 
body  instead  of  destroying  it.  We  carried  it  to  a  cabin 
in  the  woods  near  by.  At  night  we  got  a  carriage 
and  took  the  man  to  the  station  at  Forest  Hollow. 
From  thence  I  took  him  myself  to  Macon,  where  we 
remained  for  some  weeks  at  a  hotel.  Dr.  Rerdell 
attended  him  and  found  him  so  much  injured  that  he 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  239 

could  not  remember  his  own  name.  He  spoke  of 
parties  in  New  York  city  and  I  took  him  there,  where 
he  was  proved  to  be  Hector  Greyburn." 

Leslie  spoke  with  great  rapidity  and  with  consider- 
able excitement.  His  words  produced  a  profound 
impression  in  the  court-room,  and  when  the  Attorney- 
General  began  to  cross-question  him  a  murmur  ran 
through  the  audience. 

"  You  have  your  story  well  learned,"  said  the  law- 
yer, "  but  I  fear  it  will  be  regarded  as  rather  improb- 
able." 

"  Do  yoi  think  I  would  lie  ?"  demanded  the  lad, 
hotly. 

"Oh,  no!"  responded  the  lawyer,  "nobody  ever 
lies  in  court,  but  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  a  few  ques- 
tions. If  what  you  say  is  true,  it  saves  a  life.  If  it 
is  untrue,  it  will  send  you  to  prison  and  do  this  man 
in  the  dock  no  good.  Now,  who  are  you  ?" 

"Charlie  Leslie,"  said  the  boy  again. 

"  You  told  us  that  before.  What  I  ask  is,  Who  are 
you  ?  Where  do  you  live  ?  Who  are  your  par- 
ents ?" 

The  child  did  not  quail  before  the  glowering  eye  of 
the  distinguished  advocate. 

"  I  will  not  answer  you,"  he  said,  boldly.  "  You 
have  no  right  to  ask  me  personal  questions." 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  said  the  Attorney-General, 
while  the  excitement  in  the  room  rose  to  fever  heat. 
"  Do  you  know  what  they  call  contempt  of  court  ? 
Refusing  to  answer  a  question  is  contempt  of  court, 
and  you  can  be  sent  to  prison  for  it." 

"  I  was  not  brought  here,"  replied  the  boy,  defiantly. 
"  I  cannot  be  made  to  talk  about  myself.  I  came  of 
my  own  accord,  to  save  an  innocent  life." 

A  murmur  of  applause  ran  around  the  room.  The 
Attorney-General  turned  to  the  presiding  justice  ; 


24O  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  I  appeal  to  your  honor.  Shall  he  answer  me  or 
shall  he  not  ?" 

The  judge,  a  kindly  old  man,  with  white  hair  and 
benignant  features,  turned  to  the  boy  and  said,  in  the 
most  winning  tones  : 

"  Surely,  my  lad,  you  can  tell  the  gentleman  where 
you  live  and  who  your  parents  are.  We  shall  get 
along  much  faster  in  that  way." 

"  Let  him  ask  me  about  this  case,"  responded  the 
boy,  in  a  mollified  tone,  and  I  will  answer  him.  I'm 
not  on  trial,  and  my  own  affairs  are  nothing  to  him." 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  cross-question  him  on  the 
evidence  he  has  given,"  said  the  judge.  "  He  is  evi- 
dently unused  to  these  proceedings." 

The  lawyer  did  not  look  satisfied,  but  he  turned 
again  to  the  youthful  witness. 

"You  say  that  this  adventure  of  yours  began  in 
September  last  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  were  going  from  Medway  to  Johnsbury  ?" 

M  1  was." 

"  Were  you  familiar  with  this  part  of  the  country  ?" 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Where  had  you  stayed  the  night  before  ?" 

"  At  a  house  in  Medway." 

"  Whose  house  ?" 

"  I  do  not  recall  the  name." 

The  lawyer  did  not  press  the  point,  but  looked 
knowingly  at  the  jury. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  man  whom  you  first 
saw  with  the  body  near  the  river  side  ?" 

"  I  cannot  answer." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  since  you  left  on  the  train  for 
Macon  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  want  to  know  his  name." 

"  I  will  not  tell  you." 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  241 

"  Will  not  ?"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Will  not,"  repeated  the  witness. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  I  am  under  a  pledge  not  to  reveal  his 
identity." 

The  lawyer  did  not  press  the  question  further,  but 
he  gave  the  jury  to  understand  by  his  manner  that  he 
considered  the  whole  of  the  lad's  testimony  untrue 
and  consequently  valueless. 

"  You  say  that  you  persuaded  this  man  to  forego 
his  intention  of  robbing  that  body  and  committing  it 
to  the  water.  How  did  you  '  persuade  '  him  ?" 

"  With  a  revolver,"  said  the  lad,  quickly. 

"  Ah  !  my  young  man  !  So  you  carry  weapons,  do 
you  ?" 

"  I  do  not.  I  took  that  one  from  the  pocket  of  Mr. 
Greyburn." 

"  Was  it  loaded  ?" 

"  It  had  five  cartridges  not  used  and  one  which  had 
been  exploded." 

"  One  fired,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  a  hole  in  his  coat  pocket  showed 
where  the  shot  went  through." 

"  And  you  took  that  revolver,  you  mean  to  tell  us, 
and  '  persuaded  '  that  man  to  help  you  carry  the  body 
to  a  cabin  in  the  woods.  How  did  vou  know  that 
there  was  any  cabin  there  ?" 

"  The  man  told  me." 

"  You  'persuaded  '  him  to  tell  you  that  there  was  a 
cabin  in  the  woods,  did  you  ?" 

The  boy  looked  appealingly  at  the  judge,  but  he 
saw  that  he  was  expected  to  answer. 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  thing  more,"  he  said.  "  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  money  in  Mr.  Greyburn's  pocket. 
I  agreed  to  give  half  of  it  to  the  man  if  he  would  help 
me  restore. him." 


242  THOU   SMALT  NOT. 

"  You  agreed  ?"  said  the  lawyer.  "  What  right  had 
you  to  the  money  ?" 

"  I  took  it,"  said  the  boy,  growing  restive  again.  "  I 
had  to  give  part  of  it  back  to  save  Mr.  Greyburn's  life 
and  perhaps  my  own.  There  was  no  help  near,  and 
it  was  not  a  time  to  demur." 

"  vSo  we  are  to  understand,"  said  the  lawyer,  "that 
you  divided  between  yourself  and  some  one  else  a 
large  sum  of  money  found  on  the  person  of  a  drown- 
ing man." 

"  Precisely." 

"  You  confess,  then,  that  you  are  a  thief  ?" 

The  question  was  sufficiently  brutal.  The  judge 
expostulated,  and  the  audience  could  hardly  be  kept 
within  bounds. 

"  I  won't  say  another  word  to  you  !"  cried  Leslie, 
as  soon  as  he  could  be  heard. 

"  Take  him.  He's  your  witness,"  said  the  Attorney- 
General,  turning  to  Mr.  Spencer.  "  And  look  out  that 
he  don't  bite  you." 

"  My  boy,"  said  Mr.  Spencer,  in  a  mild  tone,  "  I  ap- 
pear here  for  Mr.  Dinsmore,  and  I  believe  every  word 
that  you  have  said.  There  are  one  or  two  things 
which  I  would  like  to  have  you  answer,  and  I  will  put 
the  questions.  If  you  think  they  are  improper,  you 
will  say  so,  and  we  shall  proceed  on  good  terms. 
Now,  when  and  where  did  you  last  see  Mr.  Hector 
Grey  burn  ?" 

"  In  the  outskirts  of  New  York  city,  at  the  Hotel 
Lincoln,  a  week  ago." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  the  man  whom  you  saw 
there  was  Mr.  Greyburn  ?" 

'  I  found  a  photograph  in  his  pocket  and  carried  it 
to  the  artist  who  made  it.  He  instantly  told  me  that 
I  had  the  picture  of  this  missing  man.  I  carried  a 
note  to  Mr.  Bird,  a  lawyer  in  the  Astor  House  build- 


THOU   SHALT  fcOT.  243 

ing  and  a  friend  of  Mr.  Greyburn,  telling  him  where 
to  find  him,  and  then  I  left  the  city." 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  picture  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Spencer. 

The  lad  hesitated  a  minute  and  then,  seeing  the 
incredulous  smile  of  the  Attorney-General,  he  said  : 

"  I  have  it  in  my  pocket." 

"  May  I  see  it  ?" 

Leslie  produced  the  photograph,  and  it  was  passed 
to  several  persons  present  from  Chatham,  including 
Mr.  Justice  Jarvis.  Their  demeanor  showed  that  it  was 
a  likeness  of  the  man  supposed  to  have  been  mur- 
dered. 

Mr.  Spencer  addressed  the  court : 

"Your  honor,  I  think  I  am  justified  in  asking,  even 
at  this  stage  of  the  trial,  for  a  stay  of  proceedings. 
This  lad's  story  is,  I  admit,  remarkable,  but  he  has 
told  it  in  a  frank  and  open  manner,  and  its  truth  or 
falsity  can  easily  be  demonstrated  in  a  few  days' 
time.  We  can  summon  Dr.  Rerdell  of  Macon,  whom 
we  all  know  by  reputation,  and  affidavits  from  New 
York  are  easily  procured." 

The  Attorney-General  replied  : 

"  May  it  please  the  court — I  am  not  surprised  to  see 
my  brother  grasp  even  at  such  a  flimsy  straw  as  this 
one.  Were  I  in  as  desperate  a  position  as  he,  I  might 
be  tempted  to  do  it  myself.  Look  at  the  case  a  min- 
ute. We  have  in  this  dock  a  self -acknowledged  mur- 
derer. Twice  he  has  written  his  guilt  with  his  own 
hand.  We  have  also  other  testimony  tending  to  sub- 
stantiate his  confession  beyond  a  doubt.  At  the  last 
moment  this  boy  comes  in  with  his  Arabian  Nights' 
tale  of  rescuing  a  drowning  man,  compelling  another, 
by  the  use  of  a 'revolver,  to  aid  him,  constituting  him- 
self the  guardian  and  protector  of  the  rescued  indi- 
vidual, and  at.  last  discovering  him  to  be  the  long  lost 
Greyburn  !  To  me  the  story  is  unutterably  silly.  I 


244  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

trust  your  honor  will  allow  this  trial  to  finish  this 
afternoon,  and  if  this  sort  of  stuff  is  worth  anything 
the  Governor  can  set  the  verdict  aside.  I  also  ask  you 
to  commit  this  boy  without  bail  as  a  witness  to  await 
the  pleasure  of  His  Excellency.  I  intend  to  proceed 
against  him  for  perjury  at  the  proper  time." 

The  judge  was  about  to  speak,  when  Mr.  Spencer 
rose  once  more.  By  his  side  stood  a  man  with  a  long 
red  mark  across  his  forehead,  who  had  just  entered 
the  court- room. 

•'  Another  witness,  your  honor." 

"  I  object  !"  sharply  responded  the  Attorney- 
General.  "  This  farce  has  gone  on  long  enough. 
Will  your  honor  let  the  case  proceed  ?  I  am  ready  to 
make  my  argument." 

"  Who  is  the  witness  ?"   asked  the  judge. 

"  Hector  Grey  burn  !" 

The  man  stepped  forward. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN  the  bustle  and  confusion  which  followed  the  ac- 
quittal of  Dinsmore,  Charlie  Leslie  wandered  almost 
unnoticed  from  the  court-house,  and  took  a  road  lead- 
ing out  of  Johnsbury  into  the  country.  Greyburn 
missed  him  within  a  few  minutes,  and  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  discovering  the  direction  he  had  taken,  but 
learned  it  at  last  from  a  man  who  had  encountered 
him  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  He  repaired  with 
great  haste  to  the  nearest  livery  stable,  secured  a 
carriage  and  driver,  and  bade  the  man  follow  the  boy 
with  all  possible  speed.  They  descried  him  when 
they  had  gone  about  a  mile.  He  saw  them  at  the 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  245 

same  time,  and  turned  abruptly  into  the  woods  as  if 
to  escape  their  notice.  The  driver  touched  his  horse 
with  the  whip  in  obedience  to  orders  and  drew  up  af 
the  place  where  the  lad  had  vanished.  Greyburn 
sprang  from  the  carriage  and  plunged  into  the  wood, 
and  in  another  moment  found  the  object  of  his  search. 
The  child  was  sitting,  or  rather,  half  lying,  on  the 
ground  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  it  required  but  the 
most  hasty  glance  to  see  that  he  was  suffering  phys- 
ical pain. 

"  Charlie,  my  boy,"  cried  Greyburn,  sinking  on  one 
knee  beside  him,  "  you  are  suffering.  What  is  it  ? 
Tell  me." 

The  boy  uttered  a  faint  groan  and  managed  to  get 
upon  his  feet.  He  took  several  steps  and  then  sank 
again  upon  the  grass. 

"  Let  me  put  you  in  my  carriage,"  said  Greyburn. 
"  I  can  easily  carry  you,  and  you  are  too  weak  to 
walk." 

"  Don't  touch  me  !"  exclaimed  the  child,  shrinking 
away.  "  You  have  no  right.  Why  do  you  follow  me  ?" 

"  Do  you  wish  to  die  here  without  help  ?"  asked 
Greyburn.  And  the  boy  answered,  in  a  whisper  : 

"Yes." 

"  But  I  cannot  let  you  !"  cried  the  other.  "  When  I 
was  badly  hurt  you  saved  my  life.  It  would  be  a 
poor  return  were  I  to  leave  you  in  this  condition." 

"  You  d  care  !"  No  words  can  express  the  irony  of 
this  remark  or  the  look  which  accompanied  it. 

"  Certainly  I  should  care,  and  very  much.  I  have 
become  greatly  attached  to  you  and  feel  that  I  owe 
you  more  than  I  can  ever  repay.  I  have  no  friend 
left  but  you,  and  now  you  would  desert  me." 

The  lad  looked  incredulously  at  the  face  which 
bent  above  him. 

"  The  pretty  lady  whom  you  call  your  wife — are 
you  going  to  leave  her  ?" 


246  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

'•  She  does  not  love  me,"  said  Greyburn,  choking 
down  a  rising  in  his  throat.  "  I  am  not  good  enough 
for  her.  She  is  an  angel,  I  a  poor  ordinary  mortal." 

There  was  no  mistaking  that  he  meant  what  he  said. 
The  boy  eyed  him  narrowly  and  seemed  to  relent  a 
little. 

"  What  relation  shall  we  bear  to  each  other  if  I  go 
with  you  ?"  he  said. 

"  Whatever  you  please,"  replied  the  man.  "  I  want 
you  as  a  companion,  a  friend." 

"  Make  me  a  servant  and  I  will  go,"  said  the  boy. 
"  I  will  accept  nothing  else.  I  will  eat  no  bread  which 
I  cannot  earn  ;  least  of  all,  yours,"  he  added,  in  a 
lower  tone. 

"If  you  will  have  it  so,  a  servant  you  shall  be," 
said  Greyburn:  "  You  may  do  anything  but  lie  here 
and  perish.  Put  your  arm  around  my  neck  so  that  I 
can  lift  you  easier  !" 

But  the  boy  shrank  from  him  again. 

"The  coachman,"  he  said,  pointing  through  the 
trees.  "  He  is  stronger  than  you." 

"  Nonsense.     I  can  lift  three  like  you." 

"  Before  you  were  hurt,  perhaps,"  persisted  the 
boy,  "  but  not  now.  You  must  not  try  it.  Send  the 
man  here." 

"  As  you  will,"  replied  Greyburn,  releasing  him. 
He  called  for  the  driver,  who  soon  placed  the  child  in 
the  carriage. 

"  Now  where  ?"  asked  the  coachman. 

"  To  Forest  Hollow,"  said  Greyburn. 

"  No,"  corrected  the  lad,  "  to  the  hotel  in  Johns- 
bury." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  go  back  there,"  said  Greyburn. 
"  I  hate  the  place.  I  wish  to  get  to  New  York  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  You  have  not  spoken  to  you  wife,"  said  Charlie, 
in  a  low  tone. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  247 

"  I  will  write  to  her  at  the  station  and  send  back 
the  message  by  this  man." 

"  And  after  she  has  thought  you  dead  for  months," 
said  the  boy,  reproachfully,  "  would  you  only  send 
her  a  formal  letter  ?"  He  turned  to  the  driver  and 
spoke  louder : 

"  We  will  go  to  the  Johnsbury  Hotel." 

Grey  burn  made  no  protest.  He  was  looking  in- 
tently at  his  companion.  Presently  he  asked  :  What 
is  it  that  makes  you  ill  ?" 

"  I  have  had  no  food  for  two  days,"  replied  the  lad, 
"  and  I  was  a  little  faint.  It  is  nothing." 

"  No  food  !"  cried  Greyburn.  "  Driver,  hasten  your 
horses.  Poor  child  !" 

He  spoke  the  last  words  very  tenderly,  but  the 
boy's  lip  curled  in  a  just  visible  disdain. 

"  Don't  think  that  T  mind  it,"  he  said.  "  There  are 
worse  things  than  hunger.  My  last  penny  was  gone  ; 
I  could  not  beg  and  I  would  not  steal.  I  expected  to 
die." 

"  Surely  you  would  have  asked  assistance  rather 
than  starve  to  death  ?" 

"  Not  I  !"  said  the  boy,  proudly. 

"  But  you  are  entitled  to  some  reward  from  the  State 
for  your  evidence  in  the  trial." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lad,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  came 
near  getting  it.  A  term  in  the  penitentiary.  That 
lawyer  offered  it  to  me  twice.  I  know  they  pay  wit- 
nesses and  I  knew  I  was  starving  for  the  want  of  a 
few  pennies,  and  yet  I  wouldn't  touch  their  money. 
Does  that  seem  strange  to  you  ?" 

"  Very,"  said  Greyburn. 

"  I  thought  it  would,"  replied  the  boy,  turning 
awa)T. 

The  brisk  drive  in  the  air  of  the  early  evening  in- 
vigorated the  lad  so  much  that  he  alighted  from  the 


248  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

carriage  without  assistance  and  walked  into  the  office 
of  the  hotel. 

"  I  wish  supper  prepared  as  quickly  as  possible  for 
myself  and  friend,"  said  Greyburn  to  the  clerk. 

"  For  himself  and  servant,"  corrected  Charlie. 

"  He  is  right,"  Greyburn  assented.  "Get  one  sup- 
per of  light  food  suitable  for  a  sick  person  and  the 
other  of  anything  you  have.  Serve  them  in  a  private 
room  and  let  me  know  as  soon  as  they  are  ready." 

Greyburn  sat  down  beside  the  boy. 

"  Now,  my  little  servant,"  he  said,  gently,  "  give 
your  master  what  further  orders  you  have  ready." 

"  Send  a  messenger  to  find  your  wife,"  said  the  lad, 
without  seeming  to  notice  the  witticism,  "  and  make 
arrangements  to  see  her  before  you  sleep  to-night." 

The  man  looked  at  the  lad  for  a  moment,  but  he 
cried,  "  Oh,  go  !  go  !  why  do  you  hesitate  ?"  and  he 
went  to  find  a  messenger. 

"  I  have  sent  to  her,"  he  said,  when  he  returned  to 
the  boy's  side.  Charlie  made  no  reply. 

When  supper  was  ready  the  boy  ate  sparingly,  not 
at  all  like  one  who  had  not  had  food  for  eight-and- 
forty  hours.  Before  they  finished  the  messenger  re- 
turned and  stated  that  Mrs.  Greyburn  had  gone  to 
Chatham  immediately  after  dinner,  before  the  appear- 
ance in  court  of  either  Charlie  or  her  husband. 

"  Order  two  fast  horses  and  a  double  carriage  with- 
out delay,"  said  Charlie  to  the  messenger.  "  We  will 
go  at  once  to  Chatham  Corners." 

When  Squire  Jarvis  broke  into  Mrs.  Baldwin's  little 
private  sitting-room,  and  told  her  and  Clara  that 
Hector  had  appeared  alive  in  court,  there  was  a  pretty 
flurry  for  a  while.  Clara  demanded  to  be  told  the 
principal  facts  in  the  case  over  and  over  again,  and 
gave  vent  to  her  joy  in  spasms  of  alternate  tears  and 
laughter.  At  last  she  recollected  herself  enough  to 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  249 

inquire  whither  he  had  gone  when  the  court  ad- 
journed. The  squire  could  only  inform  her  that  he 
had  seen  Greyburn  drive  away  on  the  Forest  Hollow 
road,  and  that  he  had  probably  taken  the  train  which 
passed  there  at  seven  o'clock. 

This  information  fell  upon  the  young  wife  like  a 
chill.  It  was  evident  that  her  husband  had  come  from 
New  York  merely  to  save  Dinsmore's  life,  and  that 
object  being  accomplished,  had  started  at  once  on  his 
return.  She  grew  so  ill  that  Mrs.  Baldwin  ordered  all 
visitors  from  the  house.  She  tried  to  persuade  the 
girl  to  go  to  bed  and  receive  medical  attendance,  but 
without  avail. 

"  It  is  not  medicine  I  want,"  she  said,  "  but  Hector. 
Oh,  he  is  cruel  !  Had  he  but  come  and  shown  me 
that  he  was  alive  !  But  to  go  without  a  word,  that  is 
terrible  .'" 

The  landlady  could  not  induce  her  to  lie  down. 
She  talked  incessantly  of  the  wonderful  story  of  his 
rescue,  and  declared  that  she  would  not  be  thus  de- 
serted, but  would  take  the  cars  for  New  York,  and 
compel  him  to  own  her.  She  grew  hysterical  as  time 
went  by,  and  made  Mrs.  Baldwin  say  over  and  over 
that  he  was  a  good  man,  and  a  fine-looking  man,  and 
she  was  sure  he  loved  his  wife,  only  there  had  been 
so  much  foolish  trouble,  bless  her  heart  !  It  would 
soon  be  all  over,  so  it  would,  and  the  sweetest  and 
handsomest  couple  she  had  ever  seen  would  be  united 
and  happy,  just  as  they  ought  to  be.  Yes  !  yes  !  yes  ! 

About  nine  o'clock  a  knock  came  at  the  outside 
door,  and  the  landlady  went  in  person  to  open  it.  A 
boy  stood  there,  while  a  few  steps  away  waited  a 
carriage  drawn  by  two  horses. 

"  Can  I  see  Mrs.  Greyburn  ?" 

"\Vell,  I  don't  know,"  hesitatingly  answered  the 
landlady.  "  She  is  not  very  well  to-night,  and — — " 

"  I  wish  to  speak  about  her  husband." 


250  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

Mrs.  Baldwin  waited  no  longer,  but  conducted  him 
to  the  room  where  Clara  was. 

"  Mrs.  Greyburn  ?"  said  the  boy,  interrogatively. 

"  Yes,"  said  Clara,  all  in  a  tremble.  She  dreaded 
to  hear  any  news,  lest  it  should  be  of  an  unpleasant 
nature. 

"  They  have  told  you — somebody — about  your  hus- 
band being  saved,  and  about  a  boy  who  came  to  court 
to  testify " 

"  Yes  !  yes  !"  cried  Clara. 

"  I  am  that  boy." 

She  caught  his  hand  and  covered  it  with  kisses. 

"  I  have  something  to  say,"  he  went  on,  "and  per- 
haps you  would  rather  we  were  alone."  He  looked 
at  the  landlady,  who  at  once  left  the  room.  Clara 
stood  as  she  had  risen,  clinging  for  support  to  the 
back  of  her  rocking  chair. 

"  I  asked  your  husband  to-day  why  he  did  not  go 
immediately  to  you  and  he  replied  that  you  did  not 
love  him.  Is  it  so  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ?  It  is  not  so  !"  cried  Clara.  "  He  should 
not  have  said  that." 

"  He  also  said,"  the  lad  continued,  "  that  he  had 
won  your  hand  by  fraud  and  that  two  men  had  nar- 
rowly escaped  death  on  account  of  that  act.  He  said 
that  he  was  unfit  to  join  his  life  to  yours  and  that  he 
wished  to  undo  what  evil  he  had  committed,  so  far  as 
possible,  by  giving  you  a  deed  of  separation,  with  one 
half  of  his  property." 

The  girl  clung  yet  closer  to  her  support. 

"  He  acknowledged  all  the  wrong  to  be  on  his  side, 
and  hoped  you  would  pardon  his  sins  against  you. 
He  feels  certain  that  were  you  to  accept  him  as  your 
husband  your  natures  are  so  dissimilar  that  a  rupture 
must  come  in  time.  Are  you  agreed  ?" 

"  No,  no  !"  cried  Clara,  starting  as  if  from  a  dream. 


!I  do  not  know  him."     Page  251. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  2$  I 

"  He  is  my  husband.  Bring  him  to  me  !  He  shall 
not  make  me  say  the  words  which  will  part  us." 

A  shadow  fell  between  the  lamp  in  the  hall  and 
the  girl  who  was  speaking.  The  door  had  been 
opened.  A  man  whose  face  was  covered  with  marks 
and  scars,  and  whose  forehead  bore  one  long  red  gash, 
disfiguring  him  forever,  stepped  inside  and  extended 
his  hands. 

Clara  gave  a  loud  scream,  which  brought  the  land- 
lady and  the  maid  Harriet  into  the  room.  She  threw 
her  arms  around  Mrs.  Baldwin's  neck  and  wept  con- 
vulsively. 

"  Do  you  know  this  man  ?"  asked  the  lad,  pointing 
to  the  intruder. 

"  No  !"  cried  Clara,  in  extreme  terror.  "  I  do  not 
know  him  !  He  frightens  me  !  Take  him  away." 

The  apparition  stood  like  a  statue. 

"We  will  go,"  said  Charlie,  in  a  low  voice. 

They  re-entered  the  carriage,  and  the  driver  looked 
inquiringly  at  the  boy,  who  said  : 

"  To  the  nearest  railway  station  where  we  can  get  a 
train  for  Macon." 

With  a  snap  of  the  whip,  the  horses  set  off  at  a 
gallop,  and  bore  them  rapidly  away. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

MENDALL  had  no  sooner  sent  John  Dinsmore  on 
Greyburn's  trail  than  he  repented  of  the  act  into 
which  his  hasty  passion  had  led  him.  The  loss  of  his 
wager  by  what  he  regarded  as  a  contemptible  trick 
nettled  him  so  severely  that  for  the  time  he  was 


252  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

hardly  responsible  for  his  actions.  Mendall  loved 
money.  He  had  made  a  good  deal  of  it  in  his  time, 
but,  like  all  speculators,  he  had  also  had  his  turns  of 
ill  luck,  and  this  was  not  the  only  piece  of  adverse 
fortune  which  he  had  of  late  experienced.  Unfortu- 
nate investments  in  some  Arizona  mines  and  a  bad 
twist  in  Wall  street  margins  made  him  look  forward 
with  particular  pleasure  to  the  day  when  the  amount 
of  the  wager  should  be  put  into  his  hands,  and  when  he 
discovered  how  his  late  partner  had  outwitted  him, 
he  was  beside  himself.  His  meeting  with  the  black- 
smith came  at  the  worst  time  possible  for  both. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  had  time  to  reflect,  he 
voted  himself  an  ass.  Nothing  could  be  done,  how- 
ever, to  stop  the  mischief  already  set  afoot,  and  his 
only  hope  now  was  to  keep  Walter  from  joining  in 
the  murderous  hunt.  To  do  this  he  realized  that  he 
should  have  to  rely  wholly  upon  Gabrielle.  As 
early  as  he  thought  it  probable  that  Walter  had  left 
the  house  he  presented  himself  there  and  sought  his 
accustomed  audience. 

Gabrielle  was  looking  her  sweetest  that  morning. 
She  was  in  one  of  her  happiest  moods,  and  she  came 
at  once  to  where  the  banker  awaited  her  and  threw 
her  plump  arms  about  his  neck.  With  an  abruptness 
very  unusual  for  him  he  disengaged  himself  from  her 
embrace,  and  said  : 

"  Where  is  Walter  ?" 

"  Gone  to  City  Hall,  I  suppose.  He  left  here  about 
an  hour  ago." 

"  Did  any  one  call  to  see  him  yesterday  ?" 

"  No  one.     Why  ?" 

"  Look  at  this,"  said  Mendall,  handing  her  a  news- 
paper. Gabrielle's  eyes  expanded  as  she  read  the 
notice. 

"  That  means  trouble,"  said  Mendall,  "  unless  you 
are  manager  enough  to  stop  it." 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  253 

"  Why  should  it  ?"  asked  the  girl.  "  Isn't  the  mar- 
riage all  right  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mendall,  "  now.  But  there  is  a  long 
story  to  it.  Walter  will  hear  it  most  likely  from  some- 
body or  other  before  the  day  is  out,  and  come  rush- 
ing home  to  get  packed  up  and  after  them.  He  may 
come  any  minute.  If  he  does,  he  mustn't  see  me 
here." 

Gabrielle  disappeared  for  a  few  minutes.  When 
she  returned  she  said,  "  Williams  understands.  If  he 
comes,  he  won't  enter  this  room  until  I  am  ready  for 
him.  Go  on  ;  you  interest  me." 

"  As  I  said,"  repeated  Mendall,  "  they  are  married 
all  straight  and  right  now,  but  the  whole  town  will 
know  in  a  few  days  that  they  passed  the  night  before 
their  marriage  in  a  room  at  the  Hampden.  Greyburn 
had  made  a  bet,  you  see,  of  a  good  deal  of  money, 
that  a  girl  could  not  be  named  but  what  he  could  get 
to  pass  a  night  with  him,  and  they  named  this  Camp- 
bell girl.  He  brought  her  here,  they  stayed  at  the 
Hampden,  he  got  his  wager,  married  her  the  next 
evening,  and  they  have  left  for  the  West,  no  one 
knows  where." 

"  But  I  understood,"  said  Gabrielle,  "  that  she  was 
a  wonderful  pattern  of  propriety— a  perfect  Beatrice 
Cenci  !" 

"  So  everybody  supposed,  or  no  one  would  have  bet 
fifty  thousand  dollars  on  her  name,"  said  Mendall, 
growing  exasperated  "  Of  course  he  promised  her 
marriage  immediately  after,  and  that  made  all  the 
difference  in  the  world.  No  one  imagined  that  he  was 
a  marrying  man,  or  they  never  would  have  wagered 
with  him." 

"  How  many  people  know  about  this  ?" 

"  God  knows  !"  ejaculated  the  banker.  "  Not  less 
than  a  score,  and  perhaps  a  thousand.  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  to  see  it  in  the  evening  papers.  It  will  take 


254  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

nerve  to  tell  it  to  Walter,  but  some  fool  will  be  sure 
to  do  it,  and  then  he  will  come  tearing  np  here  swear- 
ing blood  and  vengeance.  When  he  comes,  you  must 
be  ready  for  him.  Don't  let  him  go  on  any  account. 
It  would  be  a  wild-goose  chase  at  best.  Besides,  there 
is  another  crazy-head  gone  already,  and  that  is  quite 
enough." 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  that  lunatic  of  a  blacksmith  who  came  here 
that  day  to  see  Greyburn — Dinsmore  is  the  name.  I 
met  him  last  night  on  the  road  to  the  Pennsylvania 
depot,  at  which  he  had  learned  in  some  way  that  they 
had  taken  passage.  He  had  an  idea  that  he  ought  to 
kill  somebody  to  right  the  wrongs  of  the  family.  He 
will  probably  get  killed  himself  before  he  hurts  any 
one  else." 

"  Jacob,"  said  Gabrielle,  coyly,  "  what  an  interest 
you  take  in  these  people.  You  must  have  a  good  and 
sympathetic  heart." 

He  tried  to  laugh,  but  her  humor  was  not  to  be 
mistaken. 

"You  think  so  much  of  Walter,  now,"  she  went  on. 
"Quite  like  a  brother,  one  might  say.  Your  money 
helped  him  to  this  house  and  its  furnishings;  yes,  and 
to  me,  not  the  least  in  his  sum  of  delights.  Then, 
fearing  that  he  was  getting  too  much  of  the  sweetness, 
you  have  done  him  the  supreme  kindness  to  call  up 
almost  every  day  and  appropriate  a  portion  to  yourself, 
just  to  keep  him  from  getting  cloyed  !  There  is 
Greyburn,  too.  They  say  that  when  he  met  you  he 
was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse  and  that  you  helped 
him  to  wealth  as  one  might  help  another  to  a  biscuit. 
Do  you  do  good  just  for  the  sake  of  the  approval  of 
your  conscience,  Jacob  ?  Just  because  virtue  is  its 
own  reward  ?" 

The  girl  laughed  merrily. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  went  on,  smiling  up  into  his  face, 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  255 

"  what  you  and  Walter  are  up  to  together.  Let  me 
into  the  secret.  You've  made  lots  of  money — you  and 
Walter  and  'Greyburn.  How  do  you  do  it  ?  I  want 
to  make  a  little,  too." 

"  You  ?"  said  the  broker.  "  You  don't  want 
money.  You  want  jewels  and  silks  and  velvets. 
Money  is  to  you  only  a  medium  of  exchange  for 
luxuries." 

"/$•  it  ?"  mocked  the  fair  creature.  "  Now,  perhaps 
that  is  where  you  are  mistaken.  Perhaps  I  like 
things  more  substantial  than  silks  and  diamonds. 
Real — estate — for  instance.  Real — estate — eligibly 
situated — likely  to  rise  in  value.  Eh,  Jacob  ?" 

The  banker  was  visibly  disturbed  at  the  insinuating 
character  of  the  reply,  but  he  turned  it  off  with  a 
flattering  answer. 

"  You  are  a  witch,"  he  said,  "  and  whatever  you 
want,  you  are  sure  to  get  in  time,  that's  certain.  But 
we  must  not  forget  this  matter  of  Walter.  Can 
you  manage  to  keep  him  here  if  he's  inclined  to 
go?" 

"  I  can  keep  him  easily  enough,"  said  Gabrielle, 
turning  the  most  entrancing  contour  of  her  face 
toward  the  banker,  "  but  why  should  I  trouble  myself  ? 
He  may  go  and  get  killed,'  you  will  say.  Well, 
what  then  ?  I  shall  havejw*  left.  '  But  you  may  get 
angry  if  I  don't  do  as  you  tell  me.'  Well,  what  then  ? 
I  can  open  the  windows  and  call  to  passers  in  the 
street.  The  world  is  full  of  men,  and  I  ought  surely 
to  find  lovers  somewhere  among  them.  You  are 
sober,  Jacob,  but  you  know  it's  true.  Come,  look  at 
me  !  Am  I  not  handsome  enough  to  get  some  one  to 
love  me  ?" 

She  rose  and  stood  with  her  white  morning  dress 
touching  him.  In  her  hair  were  azaleas.  Her  cheeks 
had  their  own  pink  and  whiteness. 

"  Do  yoiv  wish  Walter   and  his  sister's  husband   to 


256  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

get  into  a  fatal  quarrel  ?"  protested  Mendall.  "  They 
have  both  been  lovers  of  yours.  Would  you  like  to 
have  them  killed  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Gabrielle,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  I 
shouldn't  like  it  ;  but  after  all,  it's  their  business. 
Men  are  always  killing  somebody,  any  way.  I  sup- 
pose it's  their  method  of  enjoying  life.  Now,  Jacob, 
what  I  do  say  is  this  :  /  have  no  object  in  keeping 
Walter  here.  You  have." 

"  I  understand,"  he  admitted.  "  What  shall  I  get 
you,  another  necklace  ?" 

"  I  am  tired  of  necklaces,"  she  said.  "  I  want  some- 
thing more  substantial.  I  want  real  estate.  Don't 
shake  your  head,  for  I  mean  it.  I  don't  want  it  on 
the  line  of  the  Manhattan  Improvement  Company, 
for  I  don't  wish  to  speculate,  but  I  do  want  it  right 
here  in  this  street,  at  this  number.  Do  you  see  ?  I 
want  this  house  we  are  standing  in." 

"  You  are  crazy  !"  said  Mendall.  "  I  paid  thirty- 
five  thousand  dollers  in  cash  for  this  property." 

"  It  was  too  cheap,"  cried  the  girl.  "  I  want  it  and 
I  will  give  you  forty  thousand  dollars." 

"  In  what  ?"  said  the  astonished  banker. 

"  Partly  in  cash  and  partly  in  my  undying  love  and 
affection." 

"Principally  in  the  latter  commodity,  I  guess," 
said  the  banker,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  To  resume,  as  they  say  in  novels,"  said  the  girl. 
"You  want  Walter  kept  here  and  you  want  him 
quieted  down.  /  will  do  it.  In  exchange  you  will 
give  me — let's  see — you  don't  want  to  sell  this  real 
estate — well — say  five  thousand  dollars  in  cash." 

"  Done  !"  said  Mendall,  relieved  even  by  the  men- 
tion  of  so  large  a  sum.  He  had  really  thought  for  a 
moment  that  the  house  was  going  out  from  under  his 
feet.  "  How  shall  I  know  the  result  ?" 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  257 

"I  will  send  you  word,"  she  said.  "Williams  will 
carry  a  note  to  your  rooms." 

"Now  for  a  kiss,"  said  Mendall,  "and  I  will  go." 

"  Only  one,"  said  Gabrielle,  laughing.  "  My  kisses 
are  like  roses  at  Christmas — they  come  high,  but  peo- 
ple must  have  them.  I  will  make  you  a  present  of 
one  to  bind  our  bargain." 

She  stood  on  tip-toe  and  submitted  graciously  to  his 
embrace.  Then  he  left  the  house  by  a  side  entrance. 

When  Walter  came  home  she  saw  at  once  that  he 
had  heard  nothing.  It  required  a  little  more  courage 
than  anyone  had  had  that  day  to  tell  him  that  his 
sister's  name  was  on  the  lips  of  every  man  about 
town,  mingled  with  coarse  laughter  and  vulgar  jest. 
Gabrielle  secured  him  at  once  for  a  ride  in  the  Park, 
and  it  was  quite  late  when  they  returned.  They  dined 
at  a  chop-house  on  the  road,  where  private  suppers 
were  served,  and  met  no  one  whom  they  knew.  When 
they  reached  home  Gabrielle  put  on  her  most  bewitch- 
ing mannei  and  kept  Walter  from  his  usual  half  hour 
over  the  evening  papers.  She  made  him  light  his 
cigar  in  her  boudoir  and  kept  him  talking  until  she 
knew  that  the  last  train  out  of  the  city  had  gone  for 
the  night. 

"  Do  you  really  love  me,  Walter  ?"  she  was  saying, 
as  the  clock  struck  twelve. 

"  How  many  times  must  I  answer  that  ?"  he  replied, 
going  to  where  she  stood  before  the  mirror,  and  clasp- 
ing his  arms  about  her  waist. 

"  I  know  you  say  so,"  taking  out  the  pins  which 
confined  her  luxuriant  hair,  and  allowing  it  to  fall 
around  her  like  a  cloud,  "  but  I  often  think  that  some 
more  beautiful  face  will  after  a  while  win  your  love 
from  me." 

"  There  is  none  more  beautiful,"  he  answered. 
*'  None  in  the  world.  Gabrielle,  you  are  seraphic  !" 


258  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  So  you  will  tell  your  next  love,"  pouted  the  beauty. 
"  '  Men  are  deceivers  ever.'  You  know  the  verse." 

She  took  up  a  paper  which  lay  apparently  by  acci- 
dent near  by.  He  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  the 
loveliness  of  her  shoulders  and  arms,  and  neither 
spoke  for  a  moment.  Suddenly  she  called  out  : 

"  Oh,  Walter  !     Who  do  you  think  is  married  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  guess,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile. 
"Perhaps  the  Grand  Llama  of  Thibet." 

No,  she  said,  "it's  more  wonderful  than  that.  It's 
Hector  Greyburn.  And,  heavens  !  Why,  you  must 
have  known  all  about  it." 

"  Not  I  !"  said  Walter.  "  At  least,  I  only  know 
that  he  was  terribly  in  love.  He  told  me  that  last 
summer." 

"  You  know  who  he  was  in  love  with,  then  ?"  said 
she. 

"  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea." 

"  You  knew  he  had  been  to  Springdale  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Walter,  looking  sorely  puzzled,  "  but 
not  to  get  acquainted.  He  only  visited  at  my 
house." 

"  Well  ?"  Gabrielle  interrupted.  A  light  flashed  on 
the  young  man  instantly. 

"  It's  not  a  thing  to  joke  about,"  he  cried,  a  little 
warmly.  "  Whom  has  he  married,  anyhow  ?" 

"  This  paper  says  that  she  is  'the  only  daughter  of 
the  late  Rev.  Duncan  Campbell,  of  Spriugdale.'  " 

Walter  seemed  to  shrink  into  the  depths  of  his 
easy  chair.  The  outburst  she  looked  for  did  not 
come  yet. 

"  Shall  I  show  it  to  you  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  in  a  hollow  voice.  "  The  sight  of  it 
would  blast  my  eyes." 

"  Do  you  care  very  much  ?"  she  said,  creeping 
softly  to  him  and  putting  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
"Walter,  darling-,  do  you  care  very  much  ?" 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  259 

He  looked  at  her  as  a  drunken  man  might.  A 
struggle  was  going  on  within. 

"  She  ought  to  have  told  you,  dear,  but  you  know 
how  it  is  in  love.  She  may  have  feared  that  you 
would  make  trouble,  and  taken  this  way  in  the  hope 
that  you  would  forgive  her  after  a  little  while." 

He  did  not  answer  yet. 

"  Darling,"  she  continued,  sitting  down  in  his  lap, 
and  laying  her  face  against  his,  "  don't  mind  it.  I 
hate  to  have  you  feel  bad.  It  can't  be  helped  now. 
There  !  kiss  me,  and  let  us  think  no  more  about  it." 

She  was  acting  upon  him  like  a  narcotic. 

"Walter,  you  don't  answer  me." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  drew  her  closer. 

"  I'll  never  speak  to  her  again,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"  It  is  a  disgrace.  I  am  her  only  brother.  Every- 
body will  find  out  that  she  didn't  think  enough  about 
me  to  let  me  know  when  she  got  married.  To  him, 
too  !  She'll  get  enough  of  it  in  a  few  months  !" 

"  It's  better  they're  married  than  if  they  had  gone 
away  without,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Gabrielle.  She  was  feel- 
ing her  ground  cautiously. 

"  It's  about  the  same  thing  when  she's  married  a 
man  like  him,"  said  Walter.  "  How  long  will  he  live 
with  her  before  he  strikes  a  new  fancy  ?  In  a  little 
while  she'll  come  crying  back,  and  wish  she'd  con- 
sulted me.  Then  it  will  be  my  turn." 

He  looked  very  ugly. 

"  I  would  forget  them,"  said  Gabrielle,  kissing  the 
set  lips,  and  looking  her  sweetest  into  the  frowning 
eyes.  "  They  are  not  worth  thinking  of.  Come, 
dearest,  smile  again.  You  have  quite  sent  a  chill 
over  me  ;  and  we  were  so  happy  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Walter,  returning  the  kisses 
which  she  gave  him.  "  We  will  speak  of  them  no 
more." 

The  Greyburn  sensation  was  the  usual  nine  days' 


260  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

talk  at  the  clubs,  and  then  went  its  way  like  others  of 
its  class,  and  made  room  for  something  newer.  The 
full  details  of  the  affair  never  got  into  the  possession 
of  very  many  people.  The  fact  of  the  wager  was 
known,  but  the  general  supposition  was  that  the  mar- 
riage had  in  itself  won  the  bet,  and  many  were  the 
compliments  showered  upon  Greyburn's  "  shrewd- 
ness "  in  carrying  off  at  the  same  time  a  heavy  wager 
and  a  handsome  wife.  Even  this  did  not  reach 
Walter's  ears.  He  quite  forgot  the  bet  made  at  the 
dinner.  Indeed,  his  condition  on  that  occasion  was 
such  that  nothing  in  relation  to  it  made  a  lasting  im- 
pression. Those  of  his  acquaintances  who  heard  the 
story  of  his  sister's  marriage  supposed  that  he  had 
heard  it  also,  and  did  not  care  to  enter  into  conversa- 
tion with  him  on  what  must  prove  a  disagreeable  sub- 
ject. It  often  happens  that  the  person  most  inter- 
ested in  anything  is  the  last  person  to  hear  of  it, 
though  it  may  be  the  common  talk  of  all  around 
him. 

When,  a  few  weeks  later,  a  telegram  appeared  in 
the  papers,  stating  that  Greyburn  had  been  killed, 
and  that  Dinsmore  was  under  arrest  for  his  murder, 
it  produced  another  sensation  in  the  city,  but  nothing 
like  the  previous  one.  A  murder  is  not  to  be  com- 
pared with  an  elopement  as  an  item  of  interest,  espe- 
cially if  the  parties  to  the  latter  are  young  and  hand- 
some, or  otherwise  distinguished.  At  Springdale, 
where  they  knew  Dinsmore  well,  and  his  supposed 
victim  slightly,  greater  excitement  prevailed,  and 
many  were  the  theories  raised  and  debated.  Walter 
Campbell  heard  of  this  affair,  as  he  had  of  the  other, 
through  Gabrielle,  who  handed  him  a  paper  contain- 
ing the  item,  as  they  were  sitting  one  evening  at 
dinner. 

"  A  pair  of  fools  ;  pass  me  the  wine,"  was  his  only 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  261 

comment,  and  whatever  he  may  have  thought,  he  did 
not  allude  to  the  subject  again. 

Jacob  Mendall  was  sorry  when  he  heard  that  one 
of  these  men  was  dead,  and  the  other  unlikely  to  sur- 
vive, and  yet  it  solved  a  very  annoying  problem  for 
him.  He  wired  Mr.  Middleby  to  come  home  at  any 
time,  and  went  about  his  business  with  renewed  zeal. 

Rev.  Arthur  Reycroft,  Clarence  Perky ns,  Esq.,  and 
others  of  Greyburn's  intimate  friends  heard  of  his 
death  with  real  regret.  The  former  gentleman, 
especially,  moralized  on  the  sins  of  humanity  in 
general,  and  Greyburn  in  particular,  and  ended  by 
going  to  call  on  the  fascinating  Gabrielle,  whom  he 
knew  was  now  located  in  his  friend's  former  resi- 
dence. 

She  received  him  with  open  arms — metaphorically  ; 
and  would  have  made  the  metaphor  an  actuality  had 
he  not  retired  behind  his  dignity. 

"  Mr.  Arthur,  I  am  delighted  !"  were  her  words  of 
welcome.  "  There  is  no  man  on  this  whole  globe — 
and  that  is  counting  a  good  many — whom  I  had 
rather  see  than  you.  Come  up  to  my  boudoir.  I 
have  ever  so  much  to  say  to  you." 

"  Your  boudoir  ?"  he  repeated,  inquiringly.  "  Your 
parlor  would  be  better,  I  think.  I  am  not  used  to 
seeing  ladies  in  their  boudoirs." 

"  Now  don't  be  scared,"  laughed  the  siren. '  "  It's 
not  my  bedroom,  if  that  is  what  you  are  afraid  of.  It 
is  the  room  where  I  always  receive  my  friends.  Oh, 
it's  a  perfectly  proper  place,  or  I  wouldn't  invite  you 
into  it." 

"  On  that  assurance  I  will  go  there,"  said  Mr. 
Reycroft. 

After  a  few  words  on  general  topics  he  said  : 

"  You  have  noticed,  of  course,  the  telegrams  in  the 
papers  in  relation  to  Mr.  Greyburn." 

"Yes,"  she  smiled. 


262  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

"Terrible,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Well,  y-e-s,"  she  said,  hesitating  a  little.  "  I  sup- 
pose so.  Still,  we  must  all  die,  and  a  sudden  death 
is  the  easiest." 

He  looked  amazed  at  the  lack  of  sorrow  in  her  tone 
and  look. 

"  Do  you  recollect  the  first  time  you  saw  me  ?"  he 
said.  Then,  seeing  that  she  seemed  in  doubt,  he 
added  :  "  Here,  in  this  house,  in  his  room,  when  he 
sent  for  you  and  I  asked  you  so  many  questions." 

"Oh,  3*es,"  she  said,  brightening.  "I  remember  it 
well." 

"You  haven't  forgotten,  have  you,"  he  proceeded, 
"  how  devotedly  you  loved  Mr.  Greyburn  then  ?" 

"No,  indeed  !"  laughed  the  beauty.  "  How  much 
we  did  care  for  each  other  !  It  was  really  romantic. 
How  long  ago  was  that  ?  It  seems  a  century." 

"  Much  less  than  two  years,"  said  Mr.  Reycroft, 
gravely. 

"  Oh,  you  are  mistaken,  surely!"  she  cried.  "It 
must  have  been  before  the  war,  at  least.  I  was  a 
child  then.  Now  I  aui  an  old  woman.  I've  almost 
reached  my  twenty-second  birthday.  See  the  wrinkles 
on  my  forehead."  She  knitted  her  fair  brows  and 
laughed  gaily.  "  I'm  aging  fast.  Do  look  at  my 
hair.  There  must  be  silver  threads  in  it." 

She  plunged  herself  down  at  his  feet  and  submitted 
her  golden  tresses  for  his  inspection.  He  shook  his 
head,  half  smilingly,  half  sadly,  and  she  rose  again 
and  took  a  chair  opposite  to  him. 

"  Only  one  man  in  a  thousand  would  have  let  me 
get  up  without  a  kiss,"  she  said,  with  a  bewitching 
pout  of  her  cherry  lips.  "  Oh,  don't  think  that  I 
mind  it !  I'm  glad  there  is  somebody  with  such  per- 
fect control  over  their  actions.  It  gives  me  confi- 
dence in  the  universe.  If  I  was  out  on  a  ship,  you 
know,  and  the  passengers  were  all  drinking  cham- 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  263 

pagne,  I  would  like  to  hear  that  the  captain  was  sober. 
So  with  you.  Whenever  I  see  how  different  you  are 
from  others,  I  say,  '  Here  is  a  man  who  is  standing 
on  the  bridge  and  keeping  a  look-out.'  Do  you 
understand  ?  Somebody  must  do  it  and  it  fits  you 
splendidly." 

"They  have  never  found  his  body,"  said  Mr.  Rey- 
croft,  to  bring  her  back  to  his  original  subject. 

"  Ah  !"  she  said.     "  I  didn't  know." 

"  Which,  of  course,  leads  us  to  hope  a  little  longer 
that  he  may  be  alive.  And  yet,  if  he  were  alive  we 
would  be  almost  sure  to  get  news  of  him." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  she  assented.  "  By  the  way, 
this  fellow  who  killed  him  called  here  one  day.  He 
came  into  this  very  room  and  stood  right  where  you 
are  sitting  now." 

He  moved  his  chair  involuntarily  a  little  away  from 
the  spot. 

"  Why  did  he  come  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  would  have  it  that  Mr.  Greyburn  was  in 
the  house.  He  had  the  impudence  to  say  that  as  I 
was  here  he  could  not  be  far  off.  When  he  left  he 
was  breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter  against 
Hector  if  he  ever  did  any  harm  to  Miss  Campbell. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  marriage  was  a  capital  crime. 
I  have  always  declared  it  foolish,  but  I  never  claimed 
that  we  should  condemn  its  votaries  to  death.  I  have 
always  thought  their  punishment  severe  enough  of 
itself. 

She  said  this  with  an  arch  smile  and  Mr.  Reycroft 
replied  : 

"  I  see  that  you  wish  to  draw  me  into  another  dis- 
cussion. I  am  ready  for  you,  but  you  must  not  look 
for  soft  language.  In  speaking  of  things  I  shall  call 
them  by  their  right  names." 

"  I  know  what  you  would  claim,"  said  the  girl. 
"  You  would  say  that  it  is  better  to  be  married  three 


264  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

weeks  and  then  be  shot  dead,  than  to  live  as  I  do 
under  the  'mistaken  impression  '  that  I  am  happy." 

"  I  would  say  it  were  better  to  be  shot  dead  a  thou- 
sand times  than  to  go  on  from  year  to  year  preparing 
for  an  eternity  of  remorse." 

"  I  heard  a  minister  preach  once  from  this  text," 
said  she,  slowly  : 

"  '  He  knoweth  our  frame, 

He  remembereth  that  we  are  dust.' 

Don't  you  think  that  our  circumstances  will  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  it  when  we  go  to  be  judged  ?" 

"Only  God  can  answer  that,"  said  Mr.  Reycroft, 
devoutly,  seeing  that  the  girl  had  dropped  her  banter- 
ing tone.  "  It  is  for  us  to  live  as  nearly  right  as  we 
can,  and  not  allow  our  weaknesses  to  master  us  with- 
out a  struggle.  We  must  work  out  our  own  salva- 
tion." 

"  They  say  that  He  is  merciful,"  she  answered. 
"  To  whom  should  He  show  mercy  unless  it  be  to  those 
who  need  it  most  ?" 

"  He  is  merciful,  truly,"  said  Mr.  Reycroft,  "but 
that  does  not  excuse  us  from  presuming  on  his  mercy 
and  devoting  a  whole  lifetime  to  breaking  v  His 
laws." 

"If  you  knew  my  life  you  would  say  that  He  might 
well  consider  me  a  subject  of  mercy,"  said  Gabrielle, 
looking  steadily  at  him.  "  Shall  I  tell  it  to  you  ?" 

"  If  you  would  like  to." 

"  I  was  born  in  the  slums  of  this  city,"  she  began. 
"  My  father  was  a  longshoreman,  when  he  did  any- 
thing. My  mother  did  laundry  work.  She  was  of 
good  family,  she  has  always  told  me,  but  sunk  by  her 
marriage  to  the  level  of  her  husband. 

"  My  mother  supported  us — what  support  we  got. 
My  father  was  generally  drunk.  Half  a  dozen  of  my 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  265 

little  brothers  and  sisters  did  my  mother  bear,  and 
they  all  died  because  proper  doctors  and  medicine  are 
not  to  be  had  for  the  poor.  I  was  the  last  one,  and  I 
lived,  Heaven  knows  why  !  They  couldn't  kill  me. 
I  breathed  the  fetid  air  of  a  garret  where,  in  one 
room,  we  were  expected  to  eat,  sleep,  wash,  iron  and 
die.  In  that  garret  I  was  born.  I  do  not  see  how 
my  mother  found  time  to  bear  me.  She  was  always 
at  work.  Sometimes  my  father  would  strike  her  with 
his  fists,  but  she  never  complained.  When  she  left  a 
good  home  to  marry  a  young  loafer  she  was  told  that 
she  would  have  to  lie  in  the  bed  she  made.  And  she 
never  tried  to  escape  the  chains  which  she  had  forged 
for  her  own  limbs. 

"  The  first  thing  that  I  remember  hearing  was  that 
I  was  pretty.  My  father  was  a  handsome  man  in  his 
younger  days,  and  my  mother — but  then,  everybody's 
mother  is  beautiful.  As  soon  as  I  could  carry  small 
bundles  of  laundered  goods  to  the  houses  of  ladies  for 
whom  my  mother  worked,  they  all  remarked  how 
pretty  I  was.  They  fondled  me  and  gave  me  little 
presents  in  the  way  of  clothing,  which  my  father  stole 
and  pawned  whenever  he  could  get  at  them.  I  had  a 
taste  for  dress,  and  learned  to  hide  things  when  my 
father  was  around,  and  wear  them  when  he  was  away. 
I  can  remember  sitting  by  my  mother  and  caressing 
the  lace  and  edgings  on  the  goods  she  ironed,  as  if 
they  were  living  things. 

"  When  I  grew  older,  not  only  the  ladies  admired 
my  beauty,  but  the  men.  They  stopped  me  on  the 
street  and  gave  me  bits  of  silver  in  exchange  for  the 
kisses  I  never  dreamed  of  denying.  Then  my  father 
died,  falling  in  a  drunken  fit,  and  my  mother,  till  now 
exempt  from  the  habit,  took  to  drink  to  drown  the 
sorrows  which  beset  her.  I  had  to  take  hold  of  the 
irons  to  get  work  done  when  it  was  promised,  and  I 
didn't  like  it.  1  was  inexperienced,  and  the  ladies 


266  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

for  whom  the  work  was  done  didn't  like  it,  either. 
My  mother  lay  drunk  a  whole  week  once,  and  we  got 
out  of  bread.  A  young  student  of  one  of  the  divinity 
colleges — yes,  I  mean  it ! — relieved  our  necessities, 
and 

"  But  why  go  on  ?  I  soon  had  good  clothing,  plenty 
of  food,  and  saw  my  poor  old  mother  relieved  of  want 
and  work.  Does  she  know  where  I  get  the  money, 
you  would  say.  Certainly  not.  I  tell  her  the  best 
story  I  can  invent  and  she  believes  me.  In  her  com- 
fortable little  home  she  blesses  me  over  her  bottle  of 
gin,  and  is  seldom  sober  long  enough  to  think  much 
about  it.  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  her  to  think.  The 
more  she  drowns  her  thoughts  the  better  !" 

"  Mr.  Greyburn  was  not  your  first  lover,  then  ?"  said 
Mr.  Reycroft,  as  she  hesitated. 

"  My  first  !"  echoed  the  girl.  "  No,  nor  my — oh  ! 
I've  lived  the  whole  life.  I  know  the  whole  story. 
To-day  the  favorite  of  a  governor  or  a  congressman, 
and  to-morrow  soliciting  the  merchant  or  the  clerk  on 
their  way  home  at  midnight.  I  could  tell  you  things 
which  you  would  discredit,  and  yet  they  are  true  as 
Heaven  !" 

"  It  is  terrible  !"  said  Mr.  Reycroft. 

"  Terrible  ?  Perhaps  so.  But  if  this  is  terrible, 
what  word  will  describe  the  married  misery  of  the 
place  where  I  was  born  ?  My  mother  was  once  as 
handsome  as  I,  and  better  educated.  Do  you  think  it 
was  by  deliberate  choice  that  she  sank  to  be  a  miser- 
able washerwoman,  bearing  children  whom  she  knew 
were  more  likely  to  die  than  live,  for  a  wretch  who 
repaid  her  devotion  by  curses  and  blows  ?  Poor  food, 
poor  clothing,  no  comforts,  nothing  but  slavery.  That's 
marriage  !  that's  the  state  the  preachers  would  have 
us  be  content  in  !" 

The  girl  had  wrought  herself  up  to  a  high  state  of 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  267 

excitement.  She  began  to  pace  the  floor  as  she 
talked. 

"  You  should  go  and  see  the  place  where  I  lived.  I 
can  find  it.  It  was  up  six  flights  of  rickety  stairs. 
There  was  no  plastering  on  the  walls.  The  roof 
leaked.  The  room  was  half  the  time  full  of  steam 
from  the  boiler.  We  lived  like  hogs.  Now,  look 
around  you.  See  this  room.  Compare  it  in  your 
mental  vision  with  the  other.  I  wore  then  nothing 
but  what  was  given  me  in  charity,  and  most  of  that 
got  stolen  sooner  or  later.  Many  a  time,  after  going 
a  long  way  and  bringing  home  a  little  money  for  my 
mother's  work,  my  father  has  taken  it  away  at  the 
street  door  and  we  have  gone  hungry.  Come  to  the 
pantry  in  this  house.  Look  at  the  clothes  I  wear  now. 
This  dress  is  silk.  This  basque  is  velvet.  These 
stones  in  my  ears  are  diamonds.  Why,  these  boots 
were  twenty  dollars  a  pair.  I  wear  nothing  but  what 
is  elegant,  and  I  have  grown  to  need  them  all.  Do 
you  think  I  could  go  back  to  my  old  life  ?  Not  until 
the  butterfly  can  become  a  chrysalis  again  !" 

Mr.  Reycroft  was  at  a  loss  how  to  reply.  He  had 
never  seen  Gabrielle  look  so  magnificent  as  she  did 
while  making  this  defense. 

"  You  may  talk  to  me  of  your  heavens  and  your 
after  lives  till  you  are  tired,"  she  said.  "  I  am  going 
to  live  the  life  I  have  for  all  of  later  possibilities.  I 
must  take  the  world  as  I  find  it.  Men  are  the  beings 
in  possession.  Marry  them  and  they  will  degrade  you 
until  you  are  the  mere  slave  of  their  caprice.  Refuse 
to  wed  and  they  come  to  your  feet.  What  could  I 
have  done  in  the  life  that  you  call  virtuous  ?  The 
same  road  that  my  mother  trod  was  the  only  one  open 
to  me.  Do  you  think  I  would  accept  it  ?  Not  for  all 
the  heavens  ever  dreamed  of  would  I  live  the  life  she 
did  !" 

"  All  women  in  your  place  could  not  be  sure  that 


268  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

they  would  be  treated  as  well  as  you  have  been,"  ven- 
tured Mr.  Reycroft,  when  she  paused  for  breath. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  the  girl,  stopping 
in  her  walk.  "  I  never  really  loved  a  man  yet.  I 
liked  my  first  lover  very  well,  and  am  grateful  for 
what  he  did  in  lifting  me  out  of  my  degraded  sur- 
roundings, but  that  is  all.  I  liked  Hector.  I  like 
Walter,  but  I  would  leave  even  him  to-morrow  for 
another  lover  without  caring  for  the  difference.  It  is 
all  a  matter  of  expediency  with  me.  Some  people 
have  talents  which  they  can  turn  to  account.  I  have 
nothing  but  beauty,  and  I  must  use  it  where  it  brings 
the  best  returns.  If  I  am  punished  for  it  there  will 
be  others  reckoned  in  the  same  account,  and  some 
who  hold  their  heads  much  higher  in  this  world  than 
I  have  ever  pretended  to  hold  mine." 

When  the  Rev.  Arthur  Reycroft  took  his  leave  it 
was  without  much  hope  that  he  had  succeeded  in  con- 
verting Gabrielle  from  the  error  of  her  ways. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

HECTOR  GREYBURN  established  himself  with  Charlie 
in  an  ordinary  suite  of  apartments  in  a  quiet  side 
street  of  the  city;  After  his  strange  encounter  with 
his  wife  at  Chatham  he  grew  moody  and  was  very 
little  like  his  former  self.  He  stayed  indoors  most  of 
the  day  and  only  strayed  out  after  nightfall,  when  he 
took  long  walks  which  sometimes  lasted  until  nearly 
daybreak.  In  these  walks  Charlie  usually  accom- 
panied him,  though  many  of  them  were  so  severe  as  to 
try  the  boy's  slight  strength.  Sometimes  they  went 
up  the  avenues,  away  out  toward  Harlem.  Again 
they  crossed  the  ferries  and  plunged  into  the  streets 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  269 

of  Williamsburg,  Brooklyn  and  Hoboken.  Often  their 
walk  led  in  and  out  among  the  devious  ways  of  Five 
Points,  Bleecker  Street  and  other  old-town  localities. 
They  penetrated  places  where  murders  have  been 
committed  for  ten  dollars  in  money  or  jewelry,  but 
no  one  thought  of  disturbing  the  scarred  man,  dressed 
in  plain  clothes,  or  the  delicate  child  by  his  side. 
This  went  on  for  weeks  before  the  idea  stole  into 
Greyburn's  head  that  it  might  not  be  exactly  the 
sort  of  life  which  his  young  companion  craved. 

"  This  must  be  dull  music  for  you,  Charlie,"  he  said, 
then.  "  It's  not  what  you  expected,  is  it,  staying 
hived  up  in  this  den  all  day  and  wandering  like  a 
ghoul  over  the  city  at  night  ?" 

"  I  am  content,"  said  the  lad,  "  that  is — for  myself. 
But  for  you  it  does  not  seem  right  ;  you,  who  are 
capable  of  doing  so  much  in  the  world,  if  you  only 
would." 

"  I  ?"  said  Greyburn.  "  Yes,  I've  done  a  good  deal 
in  the  world  already,  and  it  would  have  been  con- 
siderably better  off  if  it  had  never  made  my  acquaint- 
ance. Do  you  know  ihe  sort  of  life  I've  lived  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  "  I  know.  But  the  future 
— the  great  future,  rich  in  possibilities — that  is  open 
to  you  still." 

It  reminded  him  unpleasantly  of  Clara's  words. 
He  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  little  speaker. 
Then  he  said  : 

"  Charlie,  who  taught  you  all  the  goodness  you 
know  ?  or  did  it  spring  up  in  you  naturally,  like  the 
violet  in  spring?  What  an  oasis  you  are  in  this 
desert- world  !" 

"  My  mother  taught  me  to  love  right  and  hate 
wrong,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  everything  that  I  have 
seen  elsewhere  emphasizes  her  teaching." 

"  And  she  is-^" 


2/0  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  Dead— yes,"  said  the  lad,  dashing  a  tear  from  his 
eyes. 

"  Your  father  ?"  said  Greyburn.  "  Tell  me  about 
him.  Was  he  also  of  the  angelic  mould,  or  was  he  a 
a  man  like  other  men,  eating  and  drinking  with 
publicans  and  sinners  ?" 

"He  was  a  bad  man,"  said  Charlie,  quickly,  "a 
very  bad  man,  unfit  to  live  on  the  same  planet  with 
my  mother.  Whatever  good  there  may  be  in  me 
comes  not  by  inheritance  from  him." 

"  At  what  age  were  you  left  an  orphan  ?" 

"  At  nine.  My  grandfather  took  me  home  then 
for  a  little  while,  but  we  could  not  agree  and  I  ran 
away.  Next  I  stayed  two  years  in  a  doctor's  family. 
Young  as  I  was,  he  gave  me  wages  besides  my 
board,  and  when  he  died  suddenly,  I  had  a  hundred 
dollars  in  my  pocket.  I  came  to  New  York  to  get 
employment,  and  finally  went  South  with  a  troupe 
of  theatrical  people.  They  stranded  in  one  of  the 
hill  towns  of  Georgia,  and  I  was  walking  to  Macon 
when  I  saw  you  lying  on  the  banks  of  Rapid 
River." 

"  If  you  had  not  seen  me  I  should  have  been 
'  down  among  the  dead  men'  now,"  mused  Greyburn. 
"  The  fortunate  stranding  of  that  theatrical  venture 
enables  me  to  sit  here  talking  with  you,  instead  of 
accepting  an  invitation  to  dine  with  his  Satanic 
Majesty." 

"  It  does  seem  providential,"  responded  the  lad, 
"  that  I  should  have  been  there." 

"  Providence  or  luck,  or  whatever  it  was,"  replied 
Greyburn,  "  it  was  very  convenient.  I  suppose  that 
man  would  have  thrown  me  back  into  the  river  like 
a  dog-fish  after  he  had  stolen  my  valuables." 

"  Do  you  know  what  became  of  Dinsmore  ?"  said 
Charlie,  changing  the  subject. 

"  I'm   sure   I   don't,"  said  Greyburn.     "  I    haven't 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  2/1 

seen  a  soul  that  I  used  to  know  but  Mr.  Bird, 
and  I  don't  think  I  care  to.  They  wouldn't  know 
me,  any  way."  He  turned  to  the  mirror,  and 
added,  bitterly  :  "  What  an  injury  that  blacksmith 
did  !  Not  for  all  the  wealth  in  the  world  would  I 
have  exchanged  the  face  I  used  to  have  for  this 
one.  And  yet — I  can't  explain  why — I  don't  feel  at 
all  like  seeking  revenge  on  him." 

"I  should  think  he  had  been  punished  enough," 
said  Charlie.  "  He  cannot  speak  a  word,  and  it  is  a 
question  if  he  ever  walks  alone." 

"  What  is  that  compared  with  my  injuries  ?"  re- 
sponded Greyburn.  "  Before  he  met  me  I  had  a  face  ; 
now  I  have  a  mass  of  scars  and  disfigurations.  They 
said  that  I  was  the  handsomest  man  in  New  York — 
look  at  me  now  !  Loss  of  voice  ?  that's  a  bagatelle  ! 
Loss  of  locomotion  ?  one  can  ride  if  he  can't  walk  ! 
But  for  a  face  like  mine,  what  physician  knows  the 
remedy  !" 

"  It's  not  so  very  bad,"  said  the  boy,  soothingly. 
*'  A  cut  across  the  forehead,  and  another  scar  or  two, 
that's  all.  You  overrate  your  disfigurement,  Mr. 
Greyburn." 

The  man  rose  with  a  quick  motion  and  pointed  to  a 
handsome  vase  upon  the  mantel-piece,  from  which  a 
small  fragment  had  been  broken. 

"  Look  at  that  Sevres,"  said  he.  "  It  will  hold  flow- 
ers still  ;  it  has  lost  none  of  its  containing  capacity  ; 
but  who  wants  it  in  their  parlor  ?  A  piece  of  the  rim 
has  been  broken  off,  and  the  value  of  the  article  is 
gone  forever.  It  was  a  thing  of  beauty.  What  is  it 
good  for  now  ?  That  /" 

He  struck  the  vase  across  the  center,  and  it  fell  on 
the  floor  in  a  hundred  pieces. 

"  If  somebody  had  struck  me  that  way  it  would  have 
been  better,"  he  added.  "  Only  that  vase  will  not  re- 
appear somewhere  again,  and  I  might." 


2/2  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"Beauty  is  not  everything,"  ventured  the  boy. 

"No,  but  when  the  beauty  of  a  thing  is  gone,  who 
wants  the  rest  ?  You  saw  my  first  blow.  My  wife, 
whose  eyes  rained  tears  because  I  did  not  fly  instantly 
to  her  side,  shrank  from  this  face.  '  Take  him  away  ! 
he  frightens  me  !'  I  can  hear  her  now.  I  don't  blame 
her.  I  do  look  frightful.  Unless  that  mirror  lies  I 
would  do  to  scare  crows  with." 

Charlie  did  not  reply.  His  fund  of  condolence  was 
exhausted. 

"  If  you  had  known  me,"  Greyburn  went  on,  "  before 
that  September  morning  when  I  went  tumbling  like 
a  beast  to  my  doom,  you  would  understand  it  better. 
I  had  a  complexion  like  a  girl's,  fair  and  rosy,  not  an 
imperfection  in  it  anywhere.  Many  are  the  red  lips 
which  have  been  pressed  to  mine,  many  the  bright 
eyes  which  have  wandered  lovingly  over  my  counte- 
nance, caught  in  the  meshes  of  its  winning  smiles. 
Had  my  voice  failed,  I  could  have  borne  it  ;  had  my 
limbs  refused  their  office,  that  were  easily  endured  ; 
but  to  lose  that  face  is  not  a  thing  to  bear  with  equa- 
nimity, and  until  to-day  I  could  not  even  trust  myself 
to  speak  about  it." 

"Feminine  conquests  are  denied  you  by  your  mar- 
riage vow,"  said  Charlie,  "  and  your  masculine  friends 
will  not  mind." 

"My  marriage  vow!"  repeated  Greyburn.  "That 
is  dissolved  by  all  the  laws  of  reason  when  my  wife 
exclaims  that  I  frighten  her  and  demands  to  have  me 
taken  from  her  presence.  I  do  not  profess  to' be  a 
saint.  No  woman  with  any  pretensions  to  beauty 
would  care  for  me  now,  but  if  no  female  eye  looks 
brightly  into  mine  it  will  not  be  on  account  of  my 
marriage  vow.  You  cannot  understand  me,  Charlie, 
and  no  wonder.  You  are  of  the  skies,  angelic.  I  am 
of  the  earth,  earthy." 

"  You  wouldn't  wish  your  wife,  separated  from  you 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  2/3 

though  she  is,  or  your  daughter — if  you  had  one — to 
entertain  your  views,"  ventured  the  lad. 

"  That  is  an  old  way  of  begging  the  question," 
Greyburn  responded.  "  I  shouldn't  wish  my  wife  or 
daughter  to  scrub  floors  or  sell  matches  in  the 
streets." 

"  Death  is  a  kinder  fate  than  dishonor  to  a  woman," 
said  Leslie,  loftily. 

"  It  is  nonsense  to  say  so,"  said  Greyburn.  "  I  have 
had  my  trial  with  those  ideas.  When  I  met  Clara  I 
took  up  the  purity  business,  and  it  has  done  enough 
for  me.  Had  I  let  it  alone  I  should  have  been  to-day 
contented  in  mind,  fair  in  face,  rich  in  friends  and 
comforts.  Now  I  am  an  outcast,  with  no  friend  in  the 
world  but  you,  and  so  hideous  that  I  have  to  take  the 
kindly  season  of  the  night  to  make  my  walks  abroad. 
I've  gained  this  by  being  virtuous,  and,  by  all  that's 
worth  an  oath,  I'm  sick  of  it  !" 

"You  reason  strangely,"  said  the  lad.  "You  have 
acknowledged  to  me  that  you  dealt  wrongfully  with 
Miss  Campbell  in  order  to  win  a  wager,  before  you 
were  united.  /  should  ascribe  your  fall  over  the  cliffs 
to  the  retribution  of  Heaven." 

"  What  a  lot  of  exploded  ideas  you  carry  in  that 
little  head  of  yours  !"  exclaimed  Greyburn.  "  Do  not 
the  best  people  in  the  world  meet  with  accidents  as 
well  as  the  worst  ?  When  a  boiler  blows  up  or  a  train 
is  derailed  are  the  good  separated  from  the  evil  ?  I 
have  had  love  all  my  life  and  I  can't  live  without  it. 
What  affection  will  not  buy,  money  will,  and  I  shall 
have  a  sharer  of  my  apartments  before  another  week 
has  passed  over." 

"  Not  while  I  stay  here,"  said  Charlie,  firmly. 

"  It's  no  use  balking  me,"  said  the  man.  "  If  I  can- 
not do  one  thing  I  shall  break  out  in  a  new  place. 
Deny  me  the  charms  of  woman  and  I  will  try  those  of 
wine,  drink  in  the  pleasures  of  the  opium-taster  or 


274  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

frequent  gambling  shops.  I  shall  go  to  the  bad,  rely 
upon  it,  and  shutting  off  one  avenue  will  only  open  a 
thousand  others." 

The  next  night,  when  Greyburn  put  on  his  wrap- 
pings to  sally  forth,  he  said,  "  I  don't  want  you  to 
come  with  me  to-night,  Charlie." 

The  boy  made  no  reply  except  to  advance  toward 
the  door. 

"  I  said,"  repeated  Greyburn,  slowly,  "  that  I  didn't 
wish  you  to  go  with  me  to-night." 

Without  further  parley  he  closed  the  door  behind 
him  and  went  into  the  street.  It  was  a  rainy,  drizzly 
evening,  not  one  to  be  chosen  for  a  promenade,  but  it 
was  all  the  same  to  him.  Up  and  down  the  streets 
he  walked  ;  along  the  wharves  where  the  vessels  lay  ; 
among  the  lanes,  where  poverty  and  vice,  like  twin 
brothers,  stalk  hand  in  hand  ;  past  houses  whence 
came  the  sound  of  music  and  dancing,  and  where  the 
shadows  of  women  and  sailors  were  thrown  upon  the 
curtains  ;  past  cellars,  whence  issued  staggering 
drunkards  ;  past  all  the  many  colored  sides  of  the 
great  monster  which  is  continually,  day  and  night, 
sucking  the  life  blood  from  the  body  politic. 

A  noise,  the  loud  voice  of  a  woman  in  her  cups,  rose 
above  the  other  sounds  of  the  street.  Greyburn  fol- 
lowed with  careless  steps  the  crowd  which  was  gath- 
ering. An  aged  creature  occupied  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  a  block  of  houses,  and  was  answering  in  a  high 
key  the  taunts  of  several  mischievous  young  men  who 
seemed  to  take  great  delight  in  annoying  her. 

"  Ye're  a  pack  of  liars!"  hissed  the  crone.  "My 
daughter's  as  honest  a  girl  as  ever  breathed  the  air  of 
New  York.  Don't  ye  tell  me  she's  not.  Supposing 
she  does  come  here  in  her  carriage,  what  of  that  ? 
Don't  I  tell  ye  that  she's  housekeeper  for  a  rich  gen- 
tleman ?  Why  shouldn't  she  come  in  his  carriage  if 
he's  willing  ?" 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  2/5 

"Housekeeper!  Oh,  yes!"  yelled  the  young  fel- 
lows, derisively.  "  That's  very  good,  Mother  Dela- 
porte,  very  good  !" 

"  Ye're  fools,  all  of  ye  !"  screamed  the  woman,  grow- 
ing frantic.  "  It's  because  she's  a  beauty  and  your 
sisters  are  scraggy  and  homely  that  ye 're  jealous  of 
my  daughter.  She  wouldn't  look  at  such  as  ye.  Ye 
judge  her  by  your  own  kin,  and  she's  not  made  of  the 
same  dust  as  yer  dirty  mothers  and  sisters.  Do  ye 
hear  that  !  I  only  wish  my  Edward  was  here.  He'd 
fix  ye,  villains  that  ye  are,  to  malign  an  honest  girl 
who's  working  hard  to  keep  her  poor  old  mother  from 
starving." 

"  Where's  her  Edward  ?"  mockingly  asked  a  by- 
stander. 

"  He  died  drunk,  long  ago,"  replied  another.  p"  Old 
Mother's  going  like  him,  I  guess." 

The  hubbub  raised  an  immense  crowd  in  the  street, 
and  at  last  the  unvaryingly  tardy  policeman  made  his 
appearance.  When  he  reached  the  old  woman  he 
grasped  her  in  no  gentle  manner  by  the  arm. 

"  Here,  get  into  the  house,  will  you  !  If  I  hear  an- 
other word  out  of  you  to-night  I'll  put  you  into  the 
station  !" 

"  Oh,  ye  will,  will  ye  !"  cried  the  woman.  "Ye'll 
arrest  me  and  never  touch  those  lying  villains  who 
followed  me  to  cry  down  the  name  of  my  dear,  good, 
sweet  daughter.  Let  me  alone?"  she  screamed,  as 
the  officer  tightened  his  grip.  "  Drive  this  crowd  off 
and  leave  me  in  peace.  It's  them  that's  making  all 
the  trouble." 

The  old  woman  caught  hold  of  the  fence  by  which 
she  was  standing  and  clung  with  all  her  might  to  the 
palings.  The  officer  raised  his  club  and  struck  her 
across  the  fingers  ;  not  severely,  but  yet  enough  to 
elicit  a  howl  of  pain  and  rage.  The  creature  struck 
at  him  in  blind  fury  and  he  raised  his  club  again. 


276  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

This  time  the  blow  would  have  been  harder,  but  his 
arm  did  not  descend.  Greyburn,  who  had  edged 
near  to  the  scene,  caught  the  policeman's  hand.  The 
crowd  saw  this  and  raised  a  shout  of  joy.  An  officer 
in  trouble  is  always  a  welcome  sight  to  hoodlums. 

The  policeman's  eyes  met  Greyburn's  squarely 
and  the  former  quailed  a  little. 

"If  you  think  it  your  duty  to  arrest  this  woman  I 
will  help  you  to  take  her  to  the  station-house,  but  you 
shall  not  strike  her." 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  demanded  the  officer. 

"  I  am  a  citizen  of  New  York." 

"  I  am  doing  my  duty,"  said  the  officer,  growing 
bolder  as  he  saw  how  quiet  was  Greyburn's  demeanor, 
"  and  I  will  not  be  interfered  with.  Come,  old  wo- 
man, are  you  going  along  or  shall!  try  to  club  you 
again  ?" 

The  officer  raised  the  club,  but  Greyburn  wrenched 
it  from  him  with  a  quick  motion.  At  that  instant  a 
carriage  which  was  trying  to  make  its  way  through 
the  street  stopped,  hemmed  in  by  the  dense  assem- 
blage, exactly  opposite  to  the  place  where  Greyburn 
was.  The  faces  of  a  young  gentleman  and  lady  ap- 
peared at  the  window,  and  when  they  found  that 
they  could  not  immediately  proceed  the  gentleman 
alighted.  With  that  respect  for  good  clothes  which 
comes  instinctively  to  some  people,  the  throng  made 
easy  passage  for  him. 

"  Say,  what's  this  ?"  was  his  exclamation,  as  he 
came  to  the  scene  of  the  disturbance. 

"  This  man  is  assaulting  me,"  said  the  officer.  "  If 
you  are  a  friend  of  the  law,  I  call  on  you  for  assist- 
ance." 

Greyburn  looked  at  the  new  comer  and  staggered 
back  a  step. 

"  Walter  !"  he  said,  below  his  breath, 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  2?/ 

The  young  gentleman  did  not  know  him,  but  he 
did  recognize  the  officer. 

"  What,  Daniels  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  it  you  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Campbell,"  replied  the  policeman,  "and 
I  wish  you'd  assist  me  in  locking  this  man  up.  I  was 
doing  my  duty  here  in  arresting  this  woman,  when  he 
interfered." 

"  You'd  better  let  him  and  the  old  woman  go,  both 
of  them,"  was  Walter's  advice.  "  There's  no  use  in 
having  more  trouble.  You  won't  make  any  further 
disturbance,  will  you  ?"  he  said,  soothingly,  turning 
to  Mother  Delaporte. 

"  Ah  !  but  they  said,"  she  cried  again,  "  that  my 
daughter — my  darling,  sweet,  pure  and  lovely  daugh- 
ter— wasn't  an  honest  girl.  Had  they  a  right  to  say 
that,  mister  ?  And  she  the  sweetest  and  the  most 
beautiful  girl  in  New  York,  and  working  hard  to  keep 
her  poor  old  mother  in  comfort.  Wasn't  it  a  mean 
thing  and  a  cruel  thing  to  say  !  Oh,  dear  !  Oh, 
dear  !" 

The  woman  burst  into  loud  lamentations.  But  in  a 
moment  soft  young  arms  were  around  her  neck  and 
peach-like  cheeks  were  nestled  close  to  hers.  The 
young  lady  in  the  carriage  had  left  it  and  knelt  in  all 
her  silks  and  velvets  in  the  dirt  of  the  street. 

"  Mother,  darling  mother  !  It  is  I,  Gabrielle.  They 
shall  not  abuse  you.  How  could  they!  How  could 
any  one  in  the  semblance  of  a  man  be  so  cruel  !" 

Walter  Campbell  beheld  this  singular  scene  with 
the  utmost  astonishment.  He  looked  helplessly  at  his 
carriage  in  a  vain  hope  that  his  Gabrielle  might  still 
be  there  and  that  this  Gabrielle,  so  like  her  in  dress 
and  tones,  might  be  another.  He  looked  at  Daniels  ; 
he  looked  at  Grey  burn  ;  he  looked  at  the  crowd  ;  and 
there  was  no  hope  for  him  anywhere. 

Gabrielle  assisted  her  mother  to  rise  and  succeeded 


278  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

in  stilling  the  complaining  voice.  Then  she  turned  to 
her  lover. 

"  Will  you  bring  the  carriage  here  so  that  I  can  get 
her  into  it  ?  She  lives  but  a  few  blocks  away.  The 
crowd  is  so  great  that  we  could  make  little  progress 
on  foot." 

She  lifted  her  beautiful  eyes,  all  aglow  with  the 
excitement  of  the  scene,  and  placed  her  gloved  hand 
upon  Walter's  shoulder.  He  drew  back  as  if  some- 
thing poisonous  had  touched  him. 

"  Who  is  that  woman  ?"  he  demanded,  roughly. 

"  My  mother,"  replied  Gabrielle,  bridling. 

"  Then  take  her  and  go  your  way  with  her  !"  he 
said.  "  You  can't  do  it  in  my  carriage,  though.  Did 
you  think  I  would  have  it  used  for  a  thing  like  that  ?" 

He  looked  with  loathing  upon  the  object  of  his 
scorn  and  strode  away. 

Gabrielle  checked  a  rising  exclamation  and  turned 
again  to  her  mother. 

"  Never  mind,  mamma  dear.  I'll  go  home  with 
you.  No  one  shall  speak  cross  to  you  while  I  am 
here.  Come,  lean  on  my  arm." 

The  excitement  of  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
removed  all  traces  of  liquor  in  the  old  woman's  gait, 
and  she  did  as  she  was  asked,  but  the  crowd,  more 
from  curiosity  than  ill  humor,  hemmed  them  in  so 
closely  that  they  could  only  proceed  with  slowness. 
Greyburn  watched  them  for  a  few  moments  and  then, 
stepping  forward,  he  said  to  the  girl  :  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  but  have  you  far  to  go  ?" 

"Only  to  Barnes  court,"  she  replied.  "About  ten 
minutes'  walk  from  here." 

"  Shall  I  get  you  a  carriage  ?" 

"No,  thank  you.  There  is  no  stand  near  here  and 
it  would  take  too  long,  I  fear.  But  if  you  would  be 
so  kind  as  to  take  my  mother's  other  arm,  I  think  we 
could  get  along  faster,  Unless,"  she  added,  ironically, 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  279 

"you,  like  my  late  escort,  are  afraid  of  contamina- 
tion." 

The  crowd,  seeing  that  all  interest  to  them  in  the 
affair  was  ended,  began  to  disperse,  and  when  they 
reached  the  comparatively  quiet  shades  of  Barnes 
court  they  were  nearly  alone. 

"  Will  you  come  in  ?"  said  Gabrielle,  as  she  opened 
the  door  with  a  key  obtained  from  her  mother. 

"  For  a  moment  ;  just  to  see  that  all  is  well,"  he 
responded.  But,  as  he  put  his  foot  upon  the  thresh- 
old a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm.  He  turned  and 
saw  the  face  of  Charlie  Leslie. 

"  You  here,  Charlie  !  Why,  boy,  this  is  two  miles 
from  our  home." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  it  is  time  we  were 
both  there.  Do  not  enter  this  house." 

"  Why  not  ?  I  must  at  least  go  in  and  take  a  decent 
leave  of  the  people  here.  I  have  just  escorted  an  old 
lady  home  who  was  in  trouble  in  the  street." 

"  She  is  in  no  trouble  now,"  insisted  the  lad,  "and 
it  is  very  late.  7  am  going,  and  you  will  not  let  me 
go  alone." 

"  Well,  give  me  just  a  moment,  to  say  good-night, 
and  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  Then  I  must  go  in  also,"  said  Charlie. 

"Certainly.  That's  all  right,"  said  Greyburn. 
"  Come  in." 


280  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THEY  went  into  the  house.  A  gas  jet  was  lighted 
in  a  neatly  furnished  sitting-room,  where  Gabrielle  and 
her  mother  awaited  their  coming.  When  Greyburn 
entered,  the  old  lady  poured  out  her  thanks  for  his 
assistance  in  saving  her  from  being  clubbed  to  death, 
as  she  insisted  on  putting  it.  After  these  thanks  had 
been  given  over  and  over  again,  for  some  minutes, 
Gabrielle  suggested  that  her  mother  ought  to  retire 
and  get  her  rest. 

"  I  shall  stay  over  night,  mamma  dear,"  she  said. 
"  Go  right  to  your  room  and  get  to  sleep.  In  the 
morning  I  will  tell  you  all  the  news,  as  I  always  do." 

After  her  mother  had  gone,  Gabrielle  turned  to 
Greyburn. 

"  I  owe  you  many  thanks,  sir,  for  your  kindness  to 
my  mother  this  evening,  both  in  rescuing  her  from 
the  brutality  of  that  policeman  and  in  assisting  us 
home.  In  such  a  dilemma  it  was  a  surprise  and  de- 
light to  receive  the  services  of  so  true  a  gentleman." 

Greyburn  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said  : 

"  Gabrielle,  don't  you  know  who  I  am  ?" 

She  looked  up  the  least  bit  startled.  Her  eyes 
wandered  over  his  face  and  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I  thought  when  you  first  spoke  to  me  that  I  had 
seen  you  somewhere,  but  I  cannot  remember  defin- 
itely.  That  is  not  strange,  however.  I  have  known 
so  many  people." 

"  Charlie,"  said  Greyburn,  looking  at  the  boy,  "  you 
can  see  now  whether  I  have  changed  or  not.  This 
woman  has  eaten  at  my  table,  sat  by  my  side,  lain 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  28 1 

in  my  arms.  Not  for  once  or  twice,  but  for  months. 
And  she  does  not  know  that  she  ever  saw  me." 

"  Ah  !  now  I  do,"  said  Gabrielle,  rising  and  offering 
her  hand.  "  It's  Hector." 

He  took  the  hand  and  held  it. 

"But  you  did  not  know  me,"  he  said. 

"  Not  at  first,  truly,"  said  the  girl,  assuming  her 
most  winning  manner,  "  but  that  is  easily  accounted 
for.  It  is  a  wonder  that  I  know  anything  after  what 
I  have  just  passed  through.  My  head  has  been  in  a 
whirl,  and  how  could  I  have  expected  to  see  you  in 
this  out  of  the  way  place.  Now  that  I  am  getting 
calmer,  I  know  you  well  enough.  And  I  am  very, 
very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  changed,  of  course,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  say  that  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
are  a  little  more  slender — and  you've  let  your  beard 
grow — and — and — you  must  excuse  me  for  saying 
it — you're  just  the  least  mite  older." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  he  said,  bitterly, 
pointing  to  the  scar  across  his  forehead. 

"What  do  I  think  of  it?"  cried  she.  "Why,  I 
think  it's  a  long,  red  beauty  mark.  I  think  it's  just 
lovely  !  If  you  belonged  to  me,  Hector,  as  you  did 
once,  I  would  kiss  that  forehead  fifty  times  a  day. 
I'd  make  you  shave  off  that  ugly  beard,  so  as  to 
let  that  mustache  out  in  all  its  pristine  loveliness  ; 
and  there  isn't  another  thing  I'd  change  about  you,  to 
make  you  perfection." 

He  had  to  smile  ;  more  at  the  extravagance  of  the 
flattery,  than  because  he  allowed  it  to  flatter  him  ; 
and  not  a  little  at  the  ingenuity  with  which  she  made 
the  answer.  Besides,  he  found  this  sweet  face  and 
girlish  prattle  a  relief  after  the  long  months  in  which 
he  had  kept  himself  from  his  kind.  It  was  like  com- 
ing out  of  a  cave  into  an  atmosphere  full  of  sunshine 


282  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

and  singing  birds  and  gaily  colored  flowers.  Gabrielle 
began  to  affect  him  like  new  wine. 

"  Do  you  really  mean,"  he  asked,  "  that  any  price 
which  I  could  pay  would  induce  you  to  receive  me  as 
a  lover,  with  these  disfigurations  ?" 

Gabrielle  laughed  her  sweet,  low,  mellow  laugh. 

"  What  a  way  you  have  of  putting  things  !  I 
wouldn't  be  hired  to  love  any  man  whom  I  didn't 
wish  to  love.  You  know  we  were  great  friends  until 
Walter's  sister  came  between  us.  I  should  have  loved 
you  '  forever  and  ever,  amen,'  if  you  hadn't  thrown 
me  aside.  As  for  those  little  scratches  on  your  face, 
they're  not  worth  speaking  of.  They  wouldn't  make 
the  slightest  difference  to  me." 

Greyburn's  eyes  brightened.  His  face  bore  the  first 
real  smile  it  had  seen  for  months. 

"  You  give  me  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  my  life  is  not 
wholly  gone — that  I  can  yet  save  something  out  of  its 
wreck.  But — I  have  committed  a  breach  of  courtesy," 
he  added,  as  his  eye  rested  upon  Charlie.  "  I  should 
have  introduced  rny  young  friend  here.  Miss  Dela- 
porte,  Mr.  Leslie." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  meet  him,  I'm  sure,"  said  the 
girl,  advancing,  and  offering  her  hand. 

Charlie  did  not  take  it.  Indeed,  he  shrank  from  its 
touch,  more  from  instinct  than  willful  impoliteness. 

"  Mr.  Greyburu  is  disposed  to  be  facetious,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  his  servant,  nothing  more.  I  know  my  place, 
and  I  also  know  that  the  customs  of  society  do  not 
place  me  on  a  level  with  the  friends  of  my  em- 
ployer." 

The  girl  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other  in 
complete  bewilderment. 

"  Servant  or  friend,"  she  said,  "  I  offer  you  my 
hand.  Won't  you  take  it  ?" 

Stouter  hearts  than  Charlie's  had  melted  beneath 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  283 

the  glance  of  those  lovely  eyes,  but  he  showed  no 
signs  of  capitulation. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said. 

"And  why?"  asked  Gabrielle,  smiling  upon  him 
like  a  very  fairy.  "  What  is  there  in  that  little  hand 
which  can  harm  a  child  like  you  ?" 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  say,"  said  the  boy,  lifting  his 
eyes  to  hers,  and  never  flinching  before  her  gaze, 
"  that  there  is  wrong  in  your  hand.  I  will  leave  it  to 
you — is  it  a  pure  hand  ?" 

Gabrielle  uttered  a  little  cry  of  pain. 

"  Is  it  a  hand  which  points  to  a  better  life  ?  Or 
does  it  beckon  its  followers  downward  toward  the 
gates  of  death  ?" 

"  You  must  not  mind  him,"  interposed  Greyburn. 
"  He  is  nothing  if  not  preachy.  I  keep  him  as  a  foil  to 
my  sinfulness.  He  marches  ahead  where  the  sun  can 
shine  on  him.  I  am  the  shadow  creeping  along  in 
his  wake.  He  is  interesting  and  I  love  him.  Besides, 
he  saved  my  life  at  Chatham.  As  for  heeding  all  he 
says,  that  were  impossible." 

"  It  were  better  if  you  heeded  some  of  it,"  cried  the 
boy.  "  I  urged  you  not  to  enter  this  house." 

"  Why,  what  harm  has  happened  to  him  here  ?" 
cried  Gabrielle.  "  One  would  think  that  I  were  a 
viper  whose  touch  would  poison  him." 

The  lad  turned  once  more  to  Greyburn.  "  Please 
go.  It  is  nearly  morning." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  haste,"  replied  the  man.  "  We 
have  nothing  to  do  but  sleep  when  we  get  home.  I 
have  found  an  old  friend  here  and  I  wish  to  talk  with 
her.  You  may  go.  Get  a  carriage,  that  will  be  best, 
and  I  will  come  later." 

"  No,"  said  the  lad,  firmly,  "  I  cannot  leave  you.  I 
have  followed  you  all  night  and  you  must  come  with 
me  now.  We  will  take  the  carriage  together." 


284  THOU    SHA.LT   NOT.    - 

"  I  am  not  going,"  said  Greyburn,  raising  his  voice 
a  little. 

"  You  shall." 

The  boy  took  him  by  the  arm  as  if  he  would  abduct 
him  by  main  force. 

"  By  what  right  do  you  say  that  ?"  queried  the  man, 
sharply. 

"  By  every  right.  Here  is  temptation,  which  to  you 
means  sin.  Come,  I  have  counseled  you  for  many 
weeks.  I  conjure  you,  listen  to  me  now." 

"  Go  with  him,"  said  Gabrielle,  seeing  that  he  hesi- 
tated. "  You  may  get  infected  by  breathing  the  same 
air  with  me." 

"  Come,"  repeated  Charlie.  "  Even  she  joins  with 
me  in  asking  it." 

"I  will  not  !"  cried  Greyburn,  losing  all  control  of 
himself.  "  I  have  been  a  slave  too  long.  What  have 
I  to  gain  or  lose  ?  The  woman  who  swore  before  God 
to  love  me  shrinks  from  my  scarred  face.  This 
woman,  as  fair  as  she,  offers  me  her  affection,  and  I 
will  accept  it.  Go  to  my  home,  or  where  you  will,  I 
shall  remain  here." 

The  boy  grew  very  pale  during  the  last  words.  He 
lurched  dizzily  toward  a  chair,  tried  to  grasp  it,  and 
fell  lifeless  upon  the  floor.  The  scene  changed  in- 
stantly. Greyburn  caught  up  the  slender  form  and 
laid  it  on  a  sofa,  while  the  impulsive  girl  ran  to  a  cup- 
board for  restoratives.  Before  she  could  fetch  them 
she  was  startled  by  a  loud  exclamation,  and  turned  to 
see  Greyburn  with  his  arm  extended  toward  her  in  a 
beckoning  attitude. 

Charlie  lay  in  a  dead  faint.  Greyburn  had  unbut- 
toned the  child's  coat  and  loosened  his  collar,  in  order 
to  give  him  all  the  air  that  could  be  got  into  his  lungs. 
The  breath  was  so  still  that  for  a  moment  he  feared 
it  had  departed.  Tearing  open  the  shirt,  he  was 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  285 

about  to  apply  his  ear  to  the  heart  when  he  made  the 
discovery  which  caused  him  to  cry  out. 

"Good  God  !"  cried  Gabrielle.     "  It  is  a  girl." 

Greyburn  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands  and  uttered 
not  a  word. 

"  Did  you  not  know  it  ?"  she  asked,  suspiciously. 

He  shook  his  head  and  she  saw  that  he  trembled  a 
little. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  her  ?" 

"  Six  months,"  he  said  in  a  whisper.  "  I  can't  com- 
prehend it.  Little  Charlie." 

"  You  must  get  a  doctor." 

"  Yes,  where  ?" 

"  Just  around  the  corner.  The  first  door.  There  is 
a  night  bell." 

The  doctor  was  procured,  and  by  his  directions 
Gabrielle  put  the  child  to  bed  and  applied  the  neces- 
sary remedies.  The  medical  man  thought  that  he 
understood  the  situation  when  he  found  his  girl-patient 
dressed  in  boy's  clothes,  and  he  said  : 

"  Don't  let  her  get  excited  when  she  wakes.  This 
masquerading  business  is  always  dangerous.  It  acts 
on  the  nerves  of  a  girl  to  be  on  the  street  in  man's 
garments." 

When  the  faint  was  changed  into  a  quiet  sleep  under 
the  influence  of  the  medicine,  and  the  doctor  had 
taken  his  departure,  Greyburn  and  Gabrielle  con- 
versed in  low  tones  over  the"  strange  affair.  He  told 
her  all  he  had  to  tell.  When  he  finished,  she  said, 
with  a  woman's  intuition  : 

"  One  thing  is  certain,  Hector,  the  poor  child  had  a 
reason  for  her  jealousy  of  me.  She  is  terribly  in  love 
with  you,  herself." 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  he  responded,  gloomily.  "  And 
yet,  how  can  it  be  ?  She  is  the  soul  of  virtue,  and  she 
knows  that  I  am  married." 

"  That    makes    no  difference,"   replied     the    girl. 


286  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

"  Virtue  can  control  a  woman's  conduct,  but  not  her 
heart.  It  was  so  romantic.  She  saved  your  life,  and 
all  the  forces  of  nature  combine  to  make  us  love  that 
to  which  we  have  given  being.  Did  you  never  have  the 
slightest  suspicion  that  she  was  other  than  what  she 
seemed  ?" 

"  Not  the  least.  She  has  been  with  me. on  tramps 
of  miles,  lasting  all  night,  and  showed  no  more  signs 
of  weariness  than  would  be  expected  of  a  frail  boy. 
Think  how  she  carried  me  through  my  illness  at  Macon 
and  restored  me  to  my  friends.  It  seemed  remark- 
able for  a  boy  ;  it  seems  doubly  so  for  a  young,  inex- 
perienced girl.  What  could  have  been  the  object  of 
her  assuming  boy's  clothing  !  It  is  more  like  a  romance 
than  a  real  occurrence." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Charlie 
awoke.  As  she  glanced  around  the  unfamiliar  room  the 
scenes  of  the  preceding  night  came  slowly  back.  She 
lay  very  still,  thinking  what  to  do  and  say,  now  that 
her  secret  was  discovered.  When  Gabrielle  looked 
in,  Charlie  smiled  to  her  and  put  out  her  hand. 

"I  was  impolite  to  you  last  night,  I  fear,"  said  the 
sick  girl,  "  but  I  meant  well.  You  will  forgive  me, 
won't  you  ?" 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,"  said  Gabrielle.  "  What  can  I 
do  for  you  !" 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  rise  ?" 

"  Not  to-day. ' 

"  To-morrow,  then,  or  whenever  it  is  safe  for  me  to 
get  up,  would  you  get  me  something  to  wear  suitable 
for  my  sex  !  You  know,"  she  added,  blushing  a  little, 
"  I  cannot  be  a  boy  any  longer." 

"  I  will  get  anything  you  desire,"  said  Gabrielle. 

"  You  will  find  money  in  my  pocket-book.  Has  he 
— has  Mr.  Grey  burn — gone  away  ?" 

"  No,  he  is  near  at  hand  and  very  anxious  about 
your  recovery." 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  287 

"Will  it  be  improper  for  him  to  come  in  here  a 
minute  ?"  said  Charlie,  hesitatingly. 

"  I  cannot  see  why.  You  are  ill.  That  excuses 
everything." 

"  Please  speak  to  him,  then,"  said  Charlie.  "  And, 
would  you  mind  ?  I  wish  to  see  him  a  little  while 
alone." 

Greyburn  came  in,  closed  the  door  softly  behind 
him,  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the  bed. 

"  Dear  little  Charlie,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  infinite 
tenderness,  "  can  you  ever  forgive  me  for  my  harsh- 
ness last  night  ?  I  feel  so  guilty,  after  all  your  kind- 
ness to  me." 

"Hush!"  said  Charlie,  taking  the  man's  hand  in 
hers.  "  We  were  both  unreasonable.  We  did  not 
understand  each  other." 

"I  cannot  believe,"  he  continued,  "that  the  boy  I 
have  traveled  with  these  long  months  is,  after  all,  a 
woman.  I  could  not  understand  how  so  much  good- 
ness could  lurk  in  a  masculine  frame,  but  this 
hypothesis  I  never  dreamed  of." 

"  I  knew  you  did  not,"  Charlie  smiled,  "  but  it  can 
no  longer  be  denied.  When  I  rise  from  this  bed  it 
will  be  to  assume  the  garments  of  my  own  sex." 

"  Why  did  you  don  those  of  the  other  ? ' 

"  To  get  work  more  easily,"  she  said."  "  As  I  told 
you,  I  left  my  grandfather's  house  at  the  age  of  ten 
years.  What  could  a  girl  do  ?  I  tried  in  vain  to  get 
anywhere  except  into  a  kitchen.  Then  I  put  on  a 
boy's  suit  and  had  no  more  trouble.  As  a  boy  I  was 
a  success,  as  a  girl  a  miserable  failure." 

"  What  will  you  do  now  ?" 

"  That,"  she  answered,  smilingly,  "  is  for  you  to 
say.  My  contract  with  you  should  not  be  broken  be- 
cause my  sex  is  changed." 

"  It  is  impossible,"  he  said,  decidedly,  "  for  us  to  be 
together  under  these  altered  circumstances." 


288  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  turning  his  face  away, 
"  my  reputation  will  blast  yours  wherever  we  are 
known.  You  must  go  where  no  one  will  ever  hear 
that  you  lived  these  months  under  my  roof,  or  you  are 
ruined.  I  could  not,  after  this,  walk  or  ride  with  you 
in  public  and  leave  you  a  particle  of  character  in  the 
eyes  of  New  York." 

"Once  more,"  she  said,  softly,  "you  will  begin  to 
lead  a  life  of  virtue.  I  will  be  your  guide.  You  will 
win  the  regard  of  him  that  overcometh." 

"  No  !  no  !"  he  cried,  "  it  cannot  be.  You  could  not 
lift  me  up  and  I  should  drag  you  down.  The  love  for 
me  which  is  developing  in  your  heart  is  a  dangerous 
thing.  Strike  it  down  !  crush  it  out,  as  you  would  an 
infant  serpent,  or  it  will  throttle  you  !  I  am  a  wicked 
man.  I  must  run  my  course,  but  I  will  never-consent 
to  destroy  you  with  me  !" 

"  You  need  not  fear  for  me,"  replied  Charlie,  look- 
ing at  him  with  an  expression  of  ineffable  tender- 
ness. "  I  had  a  mother  who  taught  me  that  the  great- 
est of  supplications  was  this,  '  Lead  us  not  into 
temptation.'  She  knew  what  punishment  follows 
wrong-doing,  even  when  the  evil  one  appears  in  the 
brightest  and  most  pleasing  of  shapes.  No  one  could 
ever  persuade  me  to  sin,  and  if  violence  were  used  I 
would  not  hesitate  to  send  my  soul  to  that  mother 
who  gave  it  to  me  white,  and  taught  me  not  to  let  it 
be  sullied." 

"  I  cannot  listen  to  you,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  expos- 
tulation. "  No  matter  what  your  intentions  or  mine 
may  be  there  would  always  be  danger." 

."  You  cannot  refuse  me,"  persisted  Charlie.  "  You 
will  not  turn  from  your  door  one  who  loves  you  as  I 
do." 

"  But  you  shall  not  love  me  !"  he  cried  with  ve- 
hemence. "  I  refuse  to  allow  it,  I  will  send  you 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  2&9 

where  you  please,  so  that  it  be  away  from  me  ;  and  I 
shall,  of  course,  bear  all  your  expenses.  My  love  is 
the  only  thing  I  shall  refuse  you,  and  that  I  must  not 
give." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  you  will  love  me,"  said  the  girl,  raising 
herself  upon  her  pillow,  and  looking  at  him  with  eyes 
from  which  the  tears  were  flowing.  "  You  must  love 
me  !  Do  you  not  know  why  ?  Can  you  not  guess  ? 
i  am  your  daughter  /" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHEN  Clara  Greyburn  came  to  realize  what  she 
had  done— that  the  being  at  whose  appearance  she 
had  manifested  terror,  and  whom  she  had  driven  from 
her  door,  was  her  husband — she  fell  into  a  fever 
which  lasted  for  weeks.  Mr.  John  Bird,  who  was  in- 
structed by  Greyburn  to  arrange  a  settlement  with 
her,  came  on  from  New  York,  waited  several  days, 
and  then,  by  advice  of  Dr.  Robinson,  returned  again 
to  the  city  to  await  her  recovery,  which  the  good  doc- 
tor warned  him  would  be  very  slow.  The  lawyer 
made  arrangements  that  all  charges  should  be  paid 
by  himself  and  that  he  should  be  sent  for  at  the  ear- 
liest practicable  date.  The  winter  and  spring  passed 
before  Clara's  mental  and  physical  strength  were  con- 
sidered equal  to  the  transaction  of  business,  and  the 
physician  would  have  postponed  the  matter  still 
longer  except  that  her  inquiries  became  so  imperative 
that  he  feared  lest  her  anxiety  to  know  what  had 
become  of  her  husband  might  retard  her  improve- 
ment. 

One  day  m  June  Mr.  John  Bird  made  his  second 


2QO  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

appearance  at  Chatham,  and  alighted  from  the  stage 
coach  in  front  of  Mrs.  Baldwin's  house.  Clara  was 
still  far  from  strong,  and  received  him  in  an  easy 
chair.  The  landlady  left  them  alone,  after  showing 
Mr.  Bird  into  the  room,  and  the  man  of  business  pro- 
ceeded with  his  errand. 

"  Mrs.  Greyburn,"  he  began,  but  she  interrupted 
him. 

"  Tell  me  first  if  he  is  well !  Has  Hector— has 
Mr.  Greyburn — entirely  recovered  from  his  terrible 
accident  ?" 

"  In  one  sense,  yes  ;  in  another,  no,"  answered  the 
lawyer.  "  With  the  exception  of  a  few  scars,  which 
he  will  probably  carry  with  him  to  the  grave,  his 
bodily  hurts  are  mended.  Mentally,  his  condition  is 
not  so  good.  He  is  moody,  reticent  and  evidently 
unhappy.  The  loss  to  his  facial  appearance  seems  to 
weigh  heavily  upon  his  mind." 

She  caught  eagerly  at  every  word. 

"  How  does  he  live — alone  ?" 

"  Almost.  He  has  only  the  boy  for  a  companion  ; 
the  one  who  testified  at  the  trial,  you  remember. 
They  live  with  a  servant  or  two,  hardly  ever  appear- 
ing out,  and  seeming  to  shrink  from  publicity.  As 
far  as  any  of  Mr.  Greyburn's  old  companions  are 
aware,  he  is  literally  dead  to  the  world.  I  doubt  if 
any  of  them  know  that  he  is  in  the  city,  and  I  am 
sure  he  doesn't  desire  that  they  should." 

There  was  a  slight  pause  and  then -she  said  : 

"  Do  you  include  me  in  that  list,  Mr.  Bird  ?  Am  / 
one  of  those  old  acquaintances  from  whose  presence 
he  desires  to  hide  ?  Sir,  you  are  a  lawyer — his — 
lawyer — but  you  are  a  man,  and  I  believe,  a  gentle- 
man. I  must  talk  to  you  in  what  may  seem  a  plain 
manner,  but  I  have  no  one  else  to  speak  to.  Have 
you  come  to  tell  me  that  my  husband  will  insist  on 
our  living  apart,  or  is  there  any  hope  that  in  time  I 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  29! 

may  take  my  rightful  place?  Do  not  hesitate,  sir. 
You  see  I  am  very  calm." 

"  The  attorney  coughed,  and  looked  considerably 
disturbed. 

"  I  did  not  anticipate  this  turn  in  the  conversation," 
he  said,  "  but  if  I  proceed  with  my  business,  as  ordered 
by  my  client,  you  can  perhaps  judge  as  well  as  I  in 
relation  to  the  matter  of  which  you  speak.  Mr.  Grey- 
burn  instructs  me  to  offer  you  whatever  part  of  his 
fortune  you  will  consent  to  receive." 

"  I  will  never  touch  a  penny  of  it  !"  she  burst  out, 
indignantly.  "I  have  told  him  so.  You  came  here 
when  I  was  ill,  and  in  his  name  ordered  all  my  bills 
charged  to  you.  I  shall  not  allow  it.  I  have  half  of 
a  house  in  Springdale,  which  I  can  sell,  and  pay  all  I 
owe  here.  As  soon  as  I  am  strong  I  can  teach  school 
again.  Hector  may  hate  me,  but  he  shall  never 
despise  me  !  I  would  rather  starve  than  receive  a 
dollar  of  his  money  under  such  conditions  !" 

Mr.  Bird  coughed  a  good  deal  after  this,  and  was 
more  disconcerted  than  he  remembered  to  have  been 
in  the  whole  course  of  his  professional  career. 

<l  Of  course  no  one  can  compel  you  against  your 
will,"  he  said,  finally.  "  But  you  must  excuse  a  man  a 
good  deal  older  than  yourself  if  he  tells  you  plainly 
that  you  reason  quite  erroneously.  As  I  have  been 
given  to  understand  it,  Mr.  Greyburn  drove  here  one 
night  with  the  intention  of  discussing  these  matters 
with  you.  Instead  of  giving  him  the  slightest  en- 
couragement— this  is  the  way  I  hear  it — you  expressed 
in  a  violent  manner  your  wish  that  he  should  leave  at 
once.  As  you  seem  to  desire  me  to  speak  plainly,  I 
should  like  to  understand  this  point." 

"  It  was  a  most  unfortunate  error  on  my  part,"  she 
replied,  "  and  it  has  cost  me  hours  of  agony.  I  was 
highly  wrought  up  with  the  knowledge  that  Hector 
was  still  living,  and  when  the  boy  called  and  began 


292  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

to  talk  with  me  I  had  no  idea  that  my  husband  was 
within  many  miles.  When  he  stepped  into  the  room 
he  was  so  changed  that  I  never  suspected  who  he  was. 
He  stood  by  that  door,  half  in  the  shadow,  and  the 
only  effect  of  his  presence  was  to  inspire  me  with 
terror.  When  he  was  beyond  reach  and  they  told  me 
whom  I  had  sent  away,  I  fainted,  and  my  long  illness 
followed.  Could  Hector  understand  this,  could  he 
know  how  dearly  I  craved  his  presence  at  the  very 
moment  when  my  eyes  failed  to  recognize  him,  would 
he  not  forgive  me  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Bird  !  don't  you  think 
he  would  ?" 

"  He  is  greatly  changed — I  mean  in  appearance," 
mused  the  attorney.  "  The  handsome  face  you  used 
to  know  will  never  come  back  to  him." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  mind  that  ?"  said  the  girl, 
eagerly.  "Does  he  think — can  that  be  his  reason? 
Is  he  afraid  that  scars  or  disfigurements  will  affect  my 
love  ?  Rather  would  they  make  it  deeper,  by  remind- 
ing me  every  hour  that  he  owed  them  to  my  blind, 
foolish,  wicked  conduct." 

Mr.  Bird  started. 

"To  yours  ?"  he  said. 

"  To  mine.  I  drove  him  from  my  heart  when  he 
yearned  for  my  affection.  The  evening  before  the 
accident  he  begged  me  to  relent  and  I  would  not.  In 
his  distress  of  mind  he  found  sleep  impossible  and 
arose  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  walk  in  the  open 
air.  Oh  !  I  am  all  to  blame— all  !  all  !" 

"  Mr.  Greyburn  does  not  so  consider  it,"  said  the 
lawyer,  comfortingly. 

"And  when  he  understands  what  I  have  told  you, 
will  he  let  me  come  to  him  ?" 

The  lawyer  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  cannot  encourage  such  a  hope,"  he  said,  "  with- 
out being  false  to  my  trust.  'Tell  my  wife,'  said  Mr. 
Greyburn,  « that  we  can  never  be  happy  together  ; 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  293 

that  I  must  live  my  life  in  my  own  way  and  endure 
my  sorrows  as  I  can  ;  tell  her  that  I  am  a  bruised 
and  broken  man,  body  and  soul,  and  wish  to  be  con- 
sidered as  one  dead.'  These  were  his  words,  and  I 
am  sure  nothing-  will  turn  him  from  his  decision." 

Alow  moan  escaped  her  lips. 

"  If  this  be  so,"  she  said,  "  let  us  bring  this  interview 
to  a  close,  as  it  is  very  painful  to  me.  Tell  my  hus- 
band that  I  shall  never  trouble  him  again.  As  soon 
as  I  am  able  to  travel  I  shall  go  to  some  distant  place 
where  he  will  never  hear  of  me.  I  have  no  one  in 
the  wide  world  now  who  cares  where  I  go,  or  what  I 
do.  I  wrote  to  my  brother  last  week  and  he  answered 
my  letter  in  the  harshest  manner.  He  is  my  only 
near  relation.  Mr.  Bird,  I  must  bid  you  good-by.  I 
really  am  not  strong  enough  to  bear  more." 

The  lawyer  persisted  until  he  saw  that  further 
argument  was  useless.  Unless  he  could  say  that  he 
believed  that  Greyburn  would  consent  to  receive  his 
wife  as  a  wife  she  would  not  live  on  his  bounty.  There 
was  no  middle  course.  The  weak  little  woman  was 
very  strong  in  her  resolutions,  and  Mr.  Bird  left 
Chatham  without  accomplishing  anything  whatever. 

He  told  the  story  to  Greyburn  with  great  minute- 
ness, but  found  him  as  obdurate  as  his  wife  had  been. 
"  I  can  never  make  her  happy,  and  I  am  better  alone," 
he  said.  "  Now,  is  there  no  way  in  which  we  can 
compel  her  to  accept  something?  It  seems  pre- 
posterous for  a  woman  to  insist  in  the  technicalities 
which  she  raises." 

"There  is  one  way  in  which  something  might  be 
done,"  said  the  lawyer.  He  unfolded  a  plan  which 
he  had  invented,  and  which,  for  want  of  anything- 
better,  was  at  once  decided  upon. 

What  this  plan  was,  the  reader  may  perhaps  sur- 
mise when  he  learns  that  Mr.  Bird  called  within  a 
few  days  upon  Mr.  Walter  Campbell  to  ask  him 


294  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

whether  he  would  sell  his  interest  in  the  parsonage 
at  Springdale. 

"  Yes,  I'll  sell  it,"  said  Walter,  grimly,  "  and  the 
sooner  the  better.  I  don't  want  to  own  a  thing  in 
common  with  either  of  them.  Find  out  what  the 
place  is  worth  and  make  out  your  deed.  I'll  take  the 
money  and  give  it  to  the  Magdalen's  Home  to  estab- 
lish a  free  bed  in  their  name."  He  laughed  discord- 
antly at  the  idea. 

When,  a  few  weeks  later,  Clara  offered  her  portion 
of  the  homestead  for  sale,  the  bidding  was  so  spirited 
as  to  start  from  its  propriety  the  staid  old  village. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  auctioneer,  "  I  offer  you  to- 
day a  most  desirable  piece  of  property.  This  house 
is  well  known  to  you  as  the  house  of  a  former  be- 
loved pastor  of  the  church  in  this  place,  and  later  of 
a" — here  he  caught  the  frowning  eyes  of  several  vil- 
lage matrons — "of  a — of  another  perton  who — who 
has  moved  away.  The  property  consists  of  the 
house,  garden,  and  about  four  acres  of  meadow.  I 
offer  one  undivided  half  of  the  estate.  Who  will 
start  it  ?  Come,  gentlemen,  anything  for  a  beginning." 

"  One  thousand  dollars,"  said  a  stranger,  who  stood 
in  the  crowd. 

"One  thou — look  here  !"  said  the  auctioneer,  "this 
is  not  the  place  for  any  foolishness.  I  offer  one-half 
of  this  property  and  I  ask  for  a  bid.  Let  me  say,  be- 
fore I  go  any  further,  that  the  terms  are  cash.  Now 
gentlemen,  we  will  begin  again." 

"One  thousand  dollars,"  repeated  the  strange 
bidder. 

"  You  understand  I  am  only  selling  half  of  the 
place  ?"  said  the  auctioneer,  hardly  able  to  credit  his 
sense  of  hearing. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  bidder. 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  auctioneer,  recovering  himself, 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  295 

*'  I  am  offered  one  thousand  dollars.  Will  any  gentle- 
man raise  the  bid  ?" 

"  Two  thousand,"  said  a  voice  in  the  crowd.  Every- 
body knew  this  bidder.  It  was  Squire  Sawyer,  from 
Brewster. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I'm  bidding  for 
another  party,  but  I've  got  the  money  here.  Go 
ahead,  Martin.  I  guess  that'll  take  it." 

The  excitement  in  the  little  party  was  now  at  fever 
heat.  What  was  the  matter  !  Had  gold  been  dis- 
covered in  the  orchard  ?  Had  oil  been  prospected  in 
the  rocky  side  hill  ?  Two  thousand  dollars  for  half 
a  place  which  would  have  sold  high  at  eight  hun- 
dred !  What  could  it  mean  ! 

"Squire  Sawyer  bids  two  thousand,"  said  the  con- 
fused auctioneer,  "  and  — 

"  I  bid  three  thousand,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Who  are  you  bidding  for  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Martin. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  that,  too,"  added  Squire 
Sawyer. 

"  Cash,"  replied  the  stranger,  taking  a  heavy  roll 
of  bills  from  his  pocket.  "  Go  on  with  the  sale,  or  I 
shall  miss  the  next  train  at  Brewster." 

"  Three  thousand  I  am  offered,"  repeated  Mr. 
Martin,  in  a  shaking  voice,  "for  one-half  of  this 
property.  Three  thousand — do  I  hear  anything  more  ? 
Three  thousand " 

"  Thirty-one  hundred,"  called  out  Squire  Sawyer, 
desperately. 

"  Four  thousand,"  responded  the  imperturbable 
stranger,  and  at  this  sum  it  was  knocked  down.  The 
purchaser  gave  the  name  of  George  A.  Severance. 
After  receiving  his  papers  and  paying  down  the 
money,  he  stepped  into  a  carriage  and  departed,  the 
center  of  a  hundred  pairs  of  astonished  eyes. 

Mr.  Severance  had  a  few  minutes  to  wait  for  his 
train,  and  Squire  Sawyer,  who  had  followed  him  as 


296  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

far  as  his  own  residence,  strolled  down  to  ask  him  a 
few  questions. 

"  Who  is  the  real  purchaser  of  the  Campbell  par- 
sonage ?"  he  asked.  "  I  am  interested  to  know,  as  the 
only  other  bidder." 

"  Didn't  )7ou  hear  me  give  my  name  to  the  auc- 
tioneer ?"  said  Mr.  Severance,  evasively. 

"  Yes,  but  there's  some  mystery  about  it.  Now,  I'd 
just  as  lief  tell  you  whom  I  was  bidding  for,  as  long  as 
the  affair  is  all  over.  Of  course,  you  know  that  five 
hundred  dollars  is  more  than  the  thing  is  worth,  and 
I  bid  thirty-one  hundred  dollars.  I  was  bidding  for 
a  fellow  who  used  to  live  here — John  Dinsmore,  by 
name — who  had  a  great  attachment  for  the  parson's 
daughter,  though  no  one  suspected  it  until  that  affair 
out  South  got  into  the  papers.  This  Dinsmore  is  a 
cripple,  probably  for  life,  but  he  wanted  to  give  the 
girl  a  lift,  and  sent  word  to  me  to  run  the  place  up  as 
high  as  was  necessary.  I  think  he  wanted  to  come 
back  and  live  in  it.  Now,  I've  been  confidential  with 
you,  and  you  ought  to  be  the  same.  For  whom  did 
you  really  buy  it  ?" 

The  iron  horse  came  snorting  and  screaming  up  to 
the  platform. 

"  Look  in  the  Registry  of  Deeds  next  week,  and 
you'll  be  convinced  that  I've  told  the  truth,"  said  Mr. 
Severance,  as  he  stepped  aboard. 

"  Would  you  take  forty-five  hundred  dollars  for  the 
property  if  I  can  raise  it  within  a  week  ?"  called  the 
Squire,  as  the  train  started. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Severance.     "  It  isn't  for  sale." 

Clara  received  the  money  for  her  little  home,  with 
the  greatest  astonishment.  The  agent  who  arranged 
the  sale  wrote  merely  that  two  bidders  "  got  to  run- 
ning each  other,"  and  that  the  sale  was  perfectly  leg- 
itimate and  honorable.  The  faintest  idea  of  the  real 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  297 

truth  of  the  matter  never  occurred  to  her.  She  paid 
up  all  her  bills  at  Chatham  and  departed,  promising 
good  Mrs.  Baldwin  to  write  whenever  she  got  "  set- 
tled "  in  her  new  place. 

When  Mr.  Severance,  who  was  one  of  the  clerks  in 
the  employ  of  Bird  &  Bird,  recited  the  particulars  of 
the  sale  to  Grey  burn,  he  was  much  pleased.  The  ex- 
planation made  by  Squire  Sawyer  also  interested  him 
greatly. 

"  I'm  glad  that  blacksmith  didn't  get  a  chance  to 
live  in  the  house  where  she  was  born  and  reared,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  I'm  very  glad.  And  I  don't  see 
why,  either  ;  for  it  never  can  make  any  difference  to 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

WALTER  CAMPBELL  was  in  no  enviable  frame  of 
mind  that  night  when  he  left  his  beautiful  inamorata 
embracing  a  drunken  old  woman  in  the  dirt  of  the 
street,  and  rode  away  in  his  carriage  toward  his  Mad- 
ison avenue  residence.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
used  Gabrielle  extremely  well,  and  that  she  made  a 
very  poor  return  when  she  thus  disgraced  him  in  the 
eyes  of  a  common  police  officer  and  a  motley  crowd  of 
street  canaille.  He  thought,  as  he  rolled  away,  how 
unpleasant  his  house  would  be  with  its  fair  mistress 
forever  absent,  as  her  return  after  what  had  hap- 
pened was  not  among  the  possibilities.  He  did  not 
like  the  picture  which  came  to  his  mind.  Selfish  to 
a  degree,  he  thought  of  nothing  but  his  own  conven- 
ience, and  it  seemed  as  if  misfortune  in  one  form 


298  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

or  another  was  continually  dogging  his  footsteps. 
While  indulging  in  such  gloomy  fancies  he  happened 
to  notice,  strolling  along  the  almost  neglected  pave- 
ment, no  less  a  person  than  Mr.  Chester  Bolton  ;  and, 
signaling  to  the  driver,  he  was  driven  to  the  curb, 
where  he  could  accost  him. 

"Hullo!"  said  Bolton.  "It's  you,  is  it?  What's 
up  ?" 

"  Get  in  here  and  drive  np  to  the  house  with  me," 
said  Walter.  "  I'm  in  a  oretty  mess  and  I  want  to 
talk  with  you." 

"  All  right,"  said  Bolton.  "  By  the  way,  where's 
Gabe  ?  Thought  I  saw  you  at  the  Fifth  Ave  !" 

"  You  did,"  said  Walter,  "  curse  the  luck  !  You'll 
never  see  us  there  or  anywhere  else  together  again, 
though " 

"  Sho  !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Bolton.  "  What's  the  mat  ? 
Course  of  true  love,  eh  ?  No  !  Not  jell,  are  you  ? 
No  hated  rive  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Walter.  "  I'll  tell  you, 
but  don't  you  ever  mention  it.  It  might  set  the  boys 
to  laughing  at  me,  if  they  knew  it.  There's  only  one 
man,  a  policeman,  in  the  secret,  and  I  can  shut  his 
mouth." 

"All  right," said  Mr.  Bolton.  "  Drive  ahead.  Pro- 
duce your  anec.  I'll  be  dumb  as  a  lob." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Walter,  "  after  the  theatre  we 
drove  down  to  Mendall's  office  for  a  minute,  and  were 
coming  back,  when  we  found  a  devilish  mob  in  one  of 
the  streets,  where  an  officer  was  trying  to  arrest  an 
old  woman  who  was  drunk.  I  found  that  we  had  got 
to  wait,  so  I  jumped  out  to  see  the  row.  The  old 
woman  set  up  a  fearful  howl  because  some  one  had 
been  saying  that  her  daughter  wasn't  strictly  V.,  and 
the  next  thing  I  knew — would  you  believe  it  ?  Miss 
Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  was  out  of  the  carriage,  hug- 
ging the  old  gal  and  calling  her  '  mamma  !'  " 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  299 

"  Joseph  and  his  brethren  !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Bolton, 
with  surprising  inappropriateness.  "  Case  of  temp 
iusan,  was  it  ?  Down  to  Blackwell'snow,  I  suppose." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Walter.  I  couldn't  doubt 
what  she  said  in  the  way  she  said  it.  The  old  woman 
knew  her,  too.  All  I  could  do  was  to  leave  them 
there." 

"  When  she  comes  back  to-morrow  you  must  talk 
to  her,"  said  Bolton,  with  a  vague  idea  that  it  was  the 
proper  thing  to  say. 

"  Come  back  !"  repeated  Walter.  "  Not  to  me  ! 
She  may  go  with  the  sort  of  trash  she  belongs  with. 
It  makes  me  shiver  to  think  I  have  had  her  so  long. 
There  should  be  a  law  to  keep  such  creatures  in  their 
native  element.  Ugh  !  Who  would  have  thought, 
with  all  her  fancy  airs,  that  she  belonged  in  that 
sphere  ?" 

They  alighted  at  Walter's  residence  and  ascended 
to  his  private  parlor  on  the  third  floor,  where,  over 
a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  couple  of  havanas,  they  re- 
sumed their  conversation.  It  dwelt  a  little  longer  on 
Gabrielle,  until  both  gentlemen  agreed  that  it  was  a 
waste  of  time  to  discuss  that  subject  further,  and 
turned  it  into  another  channel. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking,"  said  Mr.  Bolton,  "  of  the 
gay  old  times  I've  had  in  this  house  when  Hector 
Greyburn  owned  it.  It  seems  queer,  don't  it,  to  think 
how  soon  he  went  to  the  dogs." 

"  He  was  a  fool,"  said  Walter,  in  a  tone  which 
showed  that  he  did  not  like  the  subject. 

"At  the  last—yes,"  assented  Bolton,  "but  not  in 
the  old  days.  His  house  was  always  the  property  of 
his  guests.  I  never  knew  him  to  say  a  word,  what- 
ever happened,  and  sometimes  things  used  to  happen 
which  would  have  made  trouble  anywhere  else. 
Where  the  deuce  did  he  spring  from,  all  at  once,  and 
where  did  he 'get  the  quantities  of  money  that  he 


300  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

used  to  throw  away  ?  That's  the  question  that's 
bothered  a  good  many  of  us." 

"  Stole  it,  probably,"  said  Walter.  "  He  wouldn't 
have  got  it  honestly,  if  there  was  any  other  way.  Be 
sure  of  that." 

"Why,  I  didn't  know  you  was  so  down  on  him," 
said  Bolton,  with  some  surprise  in  his  voice.  "  I  re- 
member, when  you  first  came  to  town,  you  seemed  to 
think  he  was  old  Jupe  himself." 

'•  I've  had  reasons  to  think  he  is  old  Nick  himself, 
since,"  said  Walter,  pettishly.  "  The  way  he  used  me 
at  the  end  wasn't  a  thing  to  make  me  fall  in  love 
with  him." 

"  Ah  !  I  didn't  think  you  knew,"  said  Bolton,  incau- 
tiously. "  None  of  the  boys  thought  so,  and,  of  course, 
none  of  us  felt  like  coming  to  you  with  the  news." 

"Didn't  think  I  knew!"  repeated  Walter,  with  a 
sneer.  "  Didn't  you  think  I  could  read  ?  The  mar- 
riage notice  was  printed  in  every  paper  in  New  York." 

"  The  marriage,"  echoed  Bolton.  "  The  marriage  ! 
oh,  yes  !  But  I  meant  the — other  events,  you  know 
— preceding  that.  There,  of  course — is — is  where  the 
— the — feeling  comes  in." 

The  hesitation  with  which  Mr.  Bolton  launched 
upon  his  unpleasant  theme  was  not  lessened  by  the 
glare  which  appeared  in  his  companion's  eyes  as  he 
proceeded.  He  wished  heartily  that  he  had  never 
thought  of  Greyburn,  or  had  smothered  his  ideas  in- 
stead of  giving  them  utterance. 

Walter  struck  his  fist  upon  the  table  with  a  loud 
noise. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  the  infernal  devils  do  you 
mean  by  that  ?  he  shouted.  "  The '  preceding  events,' 
do  you  say  ?  What  in  hades  were  the  preceding 
events?  D — n  it,  man,  answer  me  !  What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"'Pon  my  soul  !"  cried  Bolton,  thrown  completely 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  ^OI 

off  his  guard.  "  I  thought  by  what  you  said  that  you 
knew  it  all." 

"  Knew  it  all  !     Knew  what?" 

"  Why,  that — that — they  were  at  the  Hampden 
together." 

"  At  the  Hampden  !  Well,  supposing  they  were  at 
the  Hampden  !  What  is  there  so  terrible  in  a  man 
and  his  wife  going  to  a  respectable  hotel  ?" 

"  They  went  before  they  were  married,  though," 
said  Bolton,  desperately. 

"  Well,"  said  Walter,  nervously.  "  What  of  it  ? 
They  went  there  to  supper,  perhaps  ?  To  secure 
rooms  ?  Well,  well  ?" 

"  D — n  the  thing  !"  said  Bolton,  "  I  thought  you 
knew.  I'm  getting  into  a  pretty  fix.  If  you  don't 
know,  go  somewhere  and  find  out.  I  won't  say  an- 
other word." 

Walter  gazed  at  him  stupidly  for  a  moment.  A 
terrible  conflict  was  going  on  in  his  mind.  Suspicion 
followed  suspicion,  until  he  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"  Chet,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  lower  tone,  u  tell  me. 
What  is  it  ?  You  claim  to  be  my  friend  and  I  can't 
run  around  town  asking  such  questions.  You  have 
something  which  I  ought  to  know.  Tell  me  !" 

"  I  wish  the  imps  had  had  me  before  I  came  here 
to-night,"  said  Bolton,  "  but  if  you  will  have  it  so,  I'll 
tell  you.  They  were  at  the  hotel  together  all  of 
one  night  and  didn't  get  married  until  the  next  day." 

"  It's  a  wicked  lie  !"  cried  Walter,  indignantly. 
"  Somebody  has  deceived  you.  I  know  it  would  be 
impossible.  My  sister  married  this  man,  which  is  bad 
enough,  but  she  never  disgraced  herself  with  him  in 
any  other  way.  I  could  swear  it !  Bolton,  you  don't 
know  her,  or  you  wouldn't  even  repeat  so  gross  a 
slander." 

"  I've  seen  the  register,"  said  Bolton,  "so there's  no 
hope  on  that  score,  I  wish  there  were,  Campbell,  I'm 


3O2  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

sorry  for  you,  but  you  know  Greyburn  was  a  terrible 
fellow  among  the  women.  In  marrying  your  sister 
he  did  what  he  could  to  right  his  wrong.  From  all  I 
know  of  him,  it  is  the  best  act  he  ever  did." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  yet,"  said  Walter,  growing  paler, 
however.  "  It  is  easy  to  fix  a  hotel  register— much 
easier  than  to  win  a  girl  like  that  to  shame.  There  is 
deception  here,  Bolton,  somewhere.  There  must  be. 
Own  up  now.  The  register  could  have  been  tam- 
pered with." 

"I'd  like  to  help  you,  if  I  could,"  said  his  friend, 
"  but  it's  no  use.  You  might  as  well  have  it  out  now 
as  at  another  time.  There's  more  proof  than  the  reg- 
ister. Have  you  forgotten  Middleby's  wager  ? 
Perkyns  paid  Greyburn  the  money  the  morning  be- 
fore he  was  married." 

Walter  looked  for  a  minute  as  if  he  had  experienced 
a  paralytic  shock.  He  stared  at  Bolton  like  a  drunken 
man.  When  he  spoke,  his  tongue  was  thick  and  his 
voice  unsteady. 

"  Do  you  say  Middleby's  money  went  to  Greyburn  ? 
And  on  her  account  ?" 

Mr.  Bolton  bowed. 

"  Everybody  knows  it  ?" 

Mr.  Bolton  assented. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  Greyburn  is  ?" 

"  No  one  can  tell,"  said  Bolton.  "  He  disappeared 
after  the  acquittal  of  the  man  charged  with  his  mur- 
der." 

"  Dinsmore  ?"  said  Walter. 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  was  the  name." 

"Zfcknew." 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Walter.  "  It  wasn't  like  him 
to  try  and  kill  a  man  without  cause.  I  wish  I  could 
find  Greyburn." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  him  ?" 


THOU  SHALT  NOT.  303 

"  I  want  to  see  him,"  said  Walter,  still  in  that 
thick,  low  voice.  "  He  is  my  brother.  I  want  to 
shake  hands  with  him.  He  has  done  me  great  honor 
in  marrying  my  sister.  It  was  very  kind  of  him  to 
save  her  from  disgrace  after  her  folly.  I  want  to 
meet  him  and  tell  him  how  much  I  appreciate  it." 

"You  want  to  keep  away  from  him,  that's  what  jw* 
want,"  said  Bolton.  "  The  affair  has  all  died  out  now 
and  you  don't  want  to  make  it  public  again.  I  hear 
that  his  lawyers  offered  his  wife  any  sum  she  pleased, 
to  be  settled  on  her,  but  she  refused  to  take  anything 
and  has  also  disappeared.  He  seems  to  have  been 
perfectly  honorable  in  everything  connected  with  the 
separation." 

"  Oh,  he's  honorable  !"  said  Walter.  "  He  knows 
what's  right.  A  few  dollars  will  heal  a  family  dis- 
grace. He  won  fifty  thousand  dollars  by  my  sister, 
and,  like  a  gentleman,  he  offers  her  part  of  it.  He  is 
magnanimous,  noble  !  I  must  find  him  and  thank 
him  personally." 

"  I  wish  you'd  drop  the  mat,  I  do,  really,"  said 
Bolton.  "  I  feel  as  if  it  was  my  fault  that  you  ever 
heard  of  it.  Of  course  it  isn't  pleasant  when  these 
things  come  into  one's  own  family,  but  you  know  they 
do  happen,  and  happen  every  day.  You've  had  your 
share  in  them  ;  so  have  I  ;  so  has  Greyburn.  Ton 
my  soul,  Walter,  we  are  not  the  ones  who  should  cry 
baby." 

"You're  right,"  assented  Walter,  still  with  that 
terrible  calmness.  "  We  have  often,  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly, gone  into  the  houses  of  our  dearest  friends — 
or  those  whom  we  pretended  were  dearest — and 
treated  their  sisters  as  if  they  were  those  of  perfect 
strangers.  We  have  shaken  dice  for  the  honor  of  our 
mothers.  When  we  have  been  invited  to  dinner  we 
have  invariably  stolen  the  silver.  When  they  have 
asked  us  to  remain  over  night  we  have  always  risen 


304  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

in  the  darkness  and  strangled  the  children,  taking 
occasion  at  the  same  time  to  stab  our  hosts  to  the  heart 
as  they  lay  aleep.  It's  a  little  thing  that  Greyburn 
has  done  to  me— not  worth  talking  about.  Of  course, 
as  you  say,  I'll  drop  the  matter." 

There  was  something  almost  blood-curdling  in  the 
manner  in  which  Walter  uttered  these  ironical  words. 
Mr.  Bolton  rose,  shivered  a  little,  said  he  was  sorry, 
and  hoped  his  friend  would  feel  better  by  the  next 
morning.  Then  he  looked  at  his  watch,  declared  that 
it  was  getting  altogether  too  late,  and  took  his  de- 
parture, feeling  very  uneasy  over  the  result  of  his 
unhappy  error. 

The  next  day  Walter  was  not  at  his  desk  at  City 
Hall,  and  a  messenger,  who  was  sent  to  inquire  about 
him,  returned  with  the  answer  that  he  was  not  well. 
Mr.  Mendall,  upon  learning  this  news,  also  called  at 
the  house,  but  was  informed  by  Williams  that  Mr. 
Campbell  would  positively  refuse  to  see  anybody. 
The  succeeding  day  he  still  remained  in  his  room, 
still  claiming  illness,  though  no  medical  man  passed 
over  his  threshold.  In  the  afternoon  he  gave  Williams 
a  note  to  deliver  ;  and  early  in  the  evening  a  dark 
complexioned  man  of  medium  build  rang  the  bell  and 
was  at  once  escorted  up  to  Walter's  room. 

This  man  was  Mr.  Maurice  Stager,  a  private  detec- 
tive. As  soon  as  the  customary  salutations  had  passed, 
they  proceeded  to  business. 

"  I  want  you  to  find  Greyburn,"  said  Walter. 

"  Umph  !     Have  you  any  idea  where  he  is  ?" 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"  Not  a  very  encouraging  outlook,"  remarked 
Stager. 

"  Then  you  don't  think  you  can  find  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  find  him,  but  it  will  take  time,  unless  I 
get  a  good  clue  to  start  with.  I  can  go  right  out  to 
Georgia  and  then  trail  him  along.  We  might  put  a 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  30$ 

personal  in  the  Herald.  Or,  perhaps  you  want  this 
thing  perfectly  quiet." 

"  That's  just  what  I  want.  You  must  not  say  a 
word  to  any  one  that  we  have  spoken  on  the  subject." 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me  what  you  want  him  for  ?" 
said  Stager. 

"  He  is  my  brother  by  marriage." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that." 

"You  know  the  rest,  too,  probably, "said  Walter, 
finally.  "  How  he  went  to  the  Hampden " 

"  And  stayed  there  with  his  girl  the  night  before 
he  married  her  ?  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  seen  him  since  ;  and  I  wish  to 
speak  with  him." 

"  All  right,"  smiled  Stager,  knowingly.  "  I'll  go  to 
work  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  next  morning  Walter  was  back  at  his  desk, 
but  the  effect  of  his  illness  was  marked  by  his  fellow 
clerks  in  his  reserved  demeanor,  as  well  as  the  un- 
usual paleness  of  his  face.  To  Mendall,  who  met  him 
as  he  was  leaving  in  the  afternoon,  his  answers  were 
short  and  hardly  polite. 

"  I  hear  you've  been  ill,"  said  the  bankei. 

"  Yes.': 

"  I  called  to  see  you,  but  Williams  said  you  could 
not  be  disturbed." 

No  answer. 

"  You  are  better  to-day,  I  hope  ?w 

"Yes." 

"  And  Gabrfelle  ?     How  is  she  ?" 


306  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

"  I  don't  know  nor  care,"  snapped  Walter.  "  She's 
gone,  and  I'm  glad  of  it." 

"  Gone  !"  echoed  the  banker. 

"  That's  what  I  said." 

".Since  when  ?" 

"  Several  days  ;  nearly  a  week." 

"  So  that's  what's  the  matter,"  said  the  banker  with 
a  look  which  was  meant  to  be  roguish.  "  Well,  don't 
mind  her.  There  are  plenty  just  as  good,  She  was 
expensive,  too." 

"  Bah  !"  snarled  Walter.  "  I  didn't  want  her.  I  sent 
her  away.  Don't  take  me  for  a  fool  !" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mendall.  "  But  where  is  she  ? 
Where  did  she  go  ?" 

"  To  the  slums  which  she  came  from,  I  suppose  ! 
Do  you  want  her  ?  Go  down  around  the  wharves 
where  such  vermin  breed  Look  along  the  streets 
below  the  Five  Points.  You'll  find  her  there,  prob- 
ably, with  the  sailors  and  stevedores." 

He  departed  with  the  utmost  abruptness,  leaving 
Mendall  very  much  astonished,  and  not  a  little  indig- 
nant at  his  curt  manner. 

"  The  little  jackanapes  !"  he  muttered.  "  I  wish  I 
could  get  along  without  him.  I  wonder  what  he'll  do 
next?  The  idea  of  his  treating  me  in  this  way! 
Wouldn't  let  me  into  my  own  building  yesterday  !" 

A  passing  policeman  touched  his  hat  to  the  banker. 

"  Hallo,  Daniels,"  said  Mendall. 

"  How  do  you  do,"  responded  the  officer. 

"  Did  you  notice  young  Campbell  ?"  said  Mendall. 
"  He's  all  broke  up  to-day.  Lost  his  girl,  he  says." 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  that,"  said  the  officer,  glad 
to  air  his  knowledge,  and  proceeded  to  give  the 
banker  an  account  of  the  affair  with  Mother 
Delaporte." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  !"  said  Mendall,  as  he  concluded. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  307 

"  Where  is  this  Barnes  court  where  you  say  the  old 
lady  lives  ?" 

The  officer  described  its  location,  and  the  banker 
started  at  once  in  that  direction,  first  cautioning 
Daniels  not  to  mention  the  affair  to  any  one.  As  the 
officer  had  secured  his  position  through  Kendall's  in- 
fluence, he  promised  compliance,  and  the  banker  had 
full  confidence  that  he  would  keep  his  word. 

Mendall  found  Gabrielle  still  at  her  mother's. 
With  characteristic  good-nature,  she  allowed  the 
banker  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  as  he  entered  the  hall, 
telegraphing  him  a  warning  at  the  same  time  that  he 
must  be  sure  and  not  repeat  the  operation  in  her 
mother's  presence.  When  they  entered  the  room 
where  Mrs.  Delaporte  was  sitting,  Gabrielle  introduced 
her  visitor,  and  the  old  lady  rose  to  welcome  him 
with  every  mark  of  courtesy. 

"Mr.  Mendall  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine, 
mamma  dear,"  said  Gabrielle.  "  He  tells  me  that  he 
and  his  wife  wish  a  housekeeper,  and  he  wants  me  to 
agree  to  fill  the  place.  He  is  not  like  Mr.  Campbell, 
to  despise  us  because  we  are  not  rich." 

The  banker  listened  with  astonishment  and  delight 
to  this  speech.  The  soft,  sweet  way  in  which  she 
addressed  her  mother,  charmed  him.  There  was 
nothing  of  the  aristocrat  in  Mendall's  composition. 
The  flower  he  sought  lost  none  of  its  fragrance  when 
he  learned  that  it  grew  upon  a  dunghill. 

"  Is  it  not  time,  mamma,"  Gabrielle  continued, 
"  that  you  took  your  medicine  ?  It  is  nearly  six  o'clock. 
My  mother  is  not  well,"  she  explained,  "  and  I  have 
to  be  very  careful  of  her."  So,  speaking  alternately 
to  her  mother  and  to  Mendall,  she  escorted  the  old 
lady  into  another  room,  from  which,  in  about  fifteen 
minutes,  she  returned  alone. 

"All  quiet- along  the  Potomac?"  he  asked,  slyly. 

"  Yes,"  she  smiled.     "  My  «not.b^r  *s  sound 


308  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

"  It  must  be  wonderful  medicine  that  you  give 
her." 

"  It  is  gin,"  she  said.  "  Nothing  else  soothes  her. 
She  is  out  of  all  trouble  now  until  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. No  care,  no  sorrow,  no  pain  will  disturb  her 
for  fifteen  hours." 

"  What  do  you  think  I  came  here  for  ?"  he  asked, 
changing  the  subject. 

"  To  get  me  to  live  with  you,"  she  replied,  viva- 
ciously. "  And  to  offer  me  that  pretty  house  on 
Madison  avenue,  to  be  all  my  own,  with  a  deed  re- 
corded in  my  name,  if  I  consent." 

His  countenance  fell  a  little. 

"  Not  that  house,"  he  said.  "That  one  is  too  big, 
and,  besides,  Walter  has  a  claim  upon  it,  and  I 
couldn't  get  him  out.  I'll  buy  you  a  nice  little  place, 
though,  somewhere  else.  Something  in  the  bijou 
style." 

"  Worth  how  much  ?"  said  Gabrielle,  calculatingly. 

"  Oh,  a  nice  one.  You  wouldn't  understand  the 
figures  if  I  told  you.  What  do  a  nest  of  martens 
know  about  the  cost  of  their  box  ?  I'll  guarantee  it 
will  suit  you." 

"  And  you  will  furnish  it  all  new  ?  And  I  may  go 
and  pick  out  just  what  I  want  in  the  way  of  furni- 
ture ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  he  said,  impatiently. 

"And  the  title  deeds  shall  be  mine  ?" 

"  What  do  you  want  of  title  deeds  ?  You  would  lose 
them  if  you  had  them." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  wouldn't  !  Say,  am  I  to  have  the  title 
deeds  ?" 

He  gave  in  under  her  bewitching  smile,  and  said 
yes,  she  should  have  them. 

"  And  now,  for  how  long  am  I  to  sell  myself  in  ex- 
change for  this  piece  of  real  estate  ?" 

"  How  long  ?"  he  echoed. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  *  309 

"  Yes.  It's  a  bargain  and  sale,  you  know.  You  are 
going  to  give  me  so  many  dollars'  worth  of  property 
for  my  company.  So  I  ask — for  how  long  ?" 

"  Why,  forever  !"  said  he.  "  I  never  want  to  lose 
you." 

"  Then,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  toss  of  her  head, 
"  I  decline  your  offer.  It  isn't  high  enough." 

"  How  strange  you  are  !  '  said  Mendall. 

"  Not  at  all.  This  is  business.  Your  house  and 
furniture  will  be  worth — how  much  ?  Perhaps  eighteen 
thousand  dollars  or  twenty  thousand  dollars.  In  ex- 
change, you  want  me  for  life,  and  you  want  too  much! 
You  are  driving  too  hard  a  bargain.  I  can  do  better." 

"  But  your  expenses — your  dresses — jewelry,  ser- 
vants, household  charges,  etc. — they  will  cost  a  pretty 
penny,"  he  said. 

"  Still  not  enough  for  a  life  lease,"  she  responded 
with  a  laugh.  "  And  you  quite  forget  that  I  must 
have  spending  money." 

"  Oh,  that  is  one  of  the  etceteras,  of  course,"  he 
admitted. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  we  won't  quarrel.  Pick  out 
your  house  and  let  me  see  it.  If  it  doesn't  suit,  nego- 
tiations are  off.  If  it  does,  and  the  other  preliminaries 
are  all  right,  I  will  take  the  deeds,  and  you  shall  have 
me  till— till  I  get  tired  of  you." 

"Which  may  be  the  next  morning." 

"  Precisely.  Now  give  me  a  kiss  and  go.  Get  the 
house  this  week  sure  and  let  me  know  at  once." 

She  rose  on  tiptoe  to  kiss  the  bronzed  face  which 
he  bent  down  to  her,  and  he  half  lifted  her  petite 
form  from  the  floor  with  his  strong  arm. 

"You  will  love  me  a  little  ?"  he  said,  as  the  contact 
with  her  red  lips  brought  back  the  youthful  touch 
to  his  veins. 

"  Love  you  !  I  shall  adore  you.  Especially  if  the 
house  suits.'  It  must  be  in  a  good  location  and  where 


3IO*  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

there  is  plenty  of  sun.  Don't  be  long  deciding  ;  and 
don't  come  here  again  until  you  come  in  a  carriage  to 
take  me  to  see  the  place.  Good-bye." 

The  banker  drew  a  bill  from  his  pocket-book  and 
pressed  it  into  her  hand.  There  was  a  figure  five  and 
two  cyphers  in  the  corner. 

"  I  will  have  a  house  ready  for  you  to-morrow,"  he 
said,  warmly.  "  Now,  once  more." 

"  You've  had  enough,"  she  responded,  evading  the 
attempted  embrace,  and  wafting  him  a  kiss  across  her 
fingers  instead.  She  placed  the  money  in  the  bosom 
of  her  dress  and  sweetly  but  firmly  bowed  him  out. 

Within  a  week  she  had  the  coveted  deeds  in  her 
possession  and  soon  after  was  comfortably  installed 
in  her  cosy  home. 

Meanwhile,  Maurice  Stager  hunted  for  Greyburn. 
He  went  to  Johnsbury,  to  Chatham,  back  to  Johns- 
bury  again,  then  to  Macon,  getting  more  and  more  puz- 
zled. It  became  evident  that  the  party  for  whom  he 
searched  had  gone  back  to  New  York,  but  had  he  re- 
mained there  ?  Could  he  be  in  a  place  where  so 
many  people  knew  him  and  yet  escape  notice  ?  Stager 
came  back  to  the  city,  where  he  met  Mendall  one  day 
by  accident.  In  the  course  of  a  brief  conversation 
Mendall  disclosed  to  Stager  the  facts  relating  to  the 
discovery  of  Charlie's  identity,  which  he  had  learned 
through  Gabrielle.  Further  investigation  showed 
the  detective  that  both  Greyburn  and  the  girl  had 
suddenly  been  missed  from  their  residence  and  gone 
no  one  knew  whither. 

When  Stager  came  back  to  his  employer  and  told 
him  what  he  had  learned,  Walter  drew  a  deep  breath 
of  joy. 

"You  need  not  hunt  any  longer  for  Mr.  Greyburn," 
he  said,  gaily.  "  I  have  a  new  piece  of  work  for  you, 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  311 

for  which  I  will  pay  double  the  reward  that  I  prom- 
ised for  the  other." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  the  detective. 

"  Find  me  his  daughter  /" 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  revelations  which  Charlie  made  in  the  little  bed- 
room in  Barnes  court  completed  the  change  in  Hector 
Greyburn  which  his  love  for  Clara  Campbell  had  im- 
perfectly begun.  All  of  his  life  seemed  to  centre 
upon  his  daughter.  Her  every  movement,  as  she  went 
about  the  house,  was  followed  by  his  watchful  eye. 
When  she  retired  at  night  he  would  go  to  her  door 
and  catch  the  sound  of  her  quiet  breathing  before  he 
consented  to  seek  his  own  rest.  Could  he  have  lain 
like  a  dog  on  the  mat  before  her  chamber  he  would 
have  been  quite  content. 

The  first  day  that  she  felt  well  enough  to  talk  so 
long,  she  told  him  her  story  : 

"  I  was  brought  up  at  my  grandfather's  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  State.  I  played  around  his  farm 
as  any  child  might  until  I  was  nine  years  old,  when 
my  mother  died.  I  was  always  under  a  cloud.  My 
childish  days  were  darkened  with  a  something  which 
I  could  feel,  but  not  comprehend.  Neighbors  whis- 
pered when  they  passed  me.  Strangers  looked  over 
their  shoulders  and  made  remarks  when  I  was  pointed 
out  to  them.  Children  at  school  threw  taunts  at  me, 
none  the  less  aggravating  because  I  did  not  then 
know  what  they  meant.  My  mother  never  went  into 
society.  When  we  had  company  she  did  not  come  to 


312  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

the  table.  Her  life  seemed  to  be  made  up  of  inces- 
sant tears.  I  knew  that  she  was  included  in  the  ban 
which  hung  over  my  head,  and  I  knew  that  in  some 
way  I  was  the  cause  of  her  trouble,  as  she  was  of 
mine. 

"  Driven  from  other  companions  we  learned  to  be 
much  together.  We  climbed  over  the  hills  and  lost 
ourselves  in  the  big  woods,  day  after  day,  all  the  sum- 
mer. After  two  terms  at  school  she  said  I  need  not 
go  again.  She  taught  me  after  that  herself,  and  I 
learned  much  faster  than  before.  She  was  always 
frail,  as  I  remember  her,  and  she  faded  gradually 
until  the  end. 

"  I  was  older  than  most  children  of  my  age,  and  we 
seemed  more  like  companions  than  is  usual  with  a 
mother  and  child.  One  day,  only  a  few  months  before 
she  died,  I  asked  her  : 

"  Why  do  they  say  that  I  never  had  a  father  ?  The 
children  alwa)^  tell  me  that.  Was  it  so  ?" 

"  I  never  saw  her  weep  as  she  did  that  day.  '  My 
poor  child,'  she  said,  'you  are  punished  for  your 
mother's  sins." 

"  Then  she  told  me,  as  well  as  she  was  able  to  reach 
my  childish  comprehension,  that  there  had  been  a  bad 
and  cruel  man  who  would  have  been  my  father  but 
that  he  was  so  wicked.  She  said  that  she  knew  her 
life  would  not  last  much  longer,  and  she  wanted  me  to 
fall  on  my  knees  and  promise  her  before  God  that  I 
would  sooner  die  than  ever  do  wrong.  I  promised, 
with  uplifted  hand,  in  the  attitude  she  prescribed. 
Then  she  told  me  the  name  of  the  man  who  had 
wrought  our  shame.  She  made  me  promise  never  to 
forget  it,  and  to  pray  every  night  as  long  as  I  lived, 
4  God  keep  me  from  being  such  as  he  made  my  dear 
mother.' 

"When  they  buried  her  in  the  village  churchyard 
my  life  was  wholly  desolate.  My  grandfather  was  a 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  313 

stern  man  whose  disposition  had  not  been  sweetened 
by  his  adversities.  Existence  with  him  became  un- 
bearable and  I  ran  away.  To  get  better  opportunities 
I  assumed  a  boy's  dress.  I  had  lived  apart  from  the 
world,  and  it  was  as  natural  for  me  to  associate  with  one 
sex  as  the  other.  I  think  no  one  ever  suspected  my 
secret  until  my  swoon  revealed  it  to  you. 

"  My  work  in  saving  your  life  at  Chatham  was  done 
without  hardly  any  premeditation.  You  were  a 
stranger  to  me,  but  I  saw  that  you  were  in  danger, 
and  did  what  I  could  under  the  circumstances.  I 
intended,  as  soon  as  you  should  recover,  to  take  an 
honorable  leave  of  you  and  pursue  the  next  path  into 
which  fortune  led  me.  When  I  learned  from  Sarony 
who  you  were— when  he  pronounced  the  name  I  had 
heard  from  my  mother's  lips — I  shrank  from  going 
back  to  you,  and  wrote  the  letter  which  you  received 
from  Mr.  Bird.  I  had  hardly  any  money  of  my  own, 
and  after  what  I  had  discovered  I  would  not  touch 
another  penny  of  yours.  The  next  day  I  saw  an 
account  of  Dinsmore's  trial  in  a  newspaper  and 
hastened  to  Georgia  to  save  him.  I  told  my  story  to 
the  conductors  and  they  passed  me  without  a  ticket 
all  the  way.  As  soon  as  I  saw  that  I  was  no  longer 
needed,  I  started  for  the  woods,  where  you  found  me, 
with  the  distinct  purpose  of  lying  down  to  die.  I  had 
no  money  and  I  would  not  beg.  I  had  never  known 
but  one  friend  and  she  was  in  heaven. 

"While  I  was  protesting  to  you  that  I  would  not  be 
disturbed,  I  seemed  to  hear  my  mother's  voice,  saying, 
'Go  with  him,  you  can  do  him  good.'  I  yielded,  but 
even  then  I  could  not  endure  that  you  should  touch 
me.  You  remember  how  I  insisted  that  you  should 
call  the  coachman.  The  rest,  you  know." 

Greyburn  heard  her  story  with  mingled  emotions. 
Her  allusions  to  her  childhood  and  her  mother's  sor- 
rows touched  him  deeply. 


314  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  wiping  the  tears  from  his  eyes, 
"  I  deserve  all  the  odium  with  which  your  mother's 
teachings  have  taught  yot  to  regard  me.  I  met  her 
at  a  time  in  my  life  when  the  ruin  of  a  confiding  girl 
was  the  pastime  of  any  summer's  afternoon.  It  is  the 
old  story — too  much  trust  on  her  part,  too  much 
villainy  on  mine.  Day  after  day  she  prayed  me  to 
marry  her  for  the  sake  of  the  child,  until  I  grew 
weary  and  brought  a  new  love  to  share  our  home. 
Your  mother  could  bear  no  more.  She  went  back  to 
her  father's  house.  In  my  new  attachment  I  soon  for- 
got her.  You  see,  I  confess  everything." 

Soon  after  this,  Greyburn  disposed  of  his  furniture, 
gave  up  the  rooms  he  occupied,  and,  with  his  daughter, 
bade  farewell  to  New  York.  They  went  first  to  the 
village  of  Fairfield  and  visited  the  little  cemetery.  In 
a  quiet  corner  they  found  a  tall  shaft  of  granite, 
marked  "  Walbridge,"  and  smaller  stones  reading  : 

"  WilliamgH.  Walbridge,  died  January  12,  18 — ,  aged 

73-" 

"Susan,  beloved  wife  of  William  H.  Walbridge,  died 
March  3,  18 — ,  aged  61." 

"  Charlotte  Helena,  only  daughter  of  William  H.  and 
Susan  Walbridge,  died  August  7,  18 — ,  aged  26. 
'  There  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling.'  " 

Greyburn  broke  down  a  little  as  he  read  the  latter 
inscription,  but  a  touch  on  his  arm  recalled  him  to 
himself. 

"  She  gave  me  her  own  name — Charlotte  Helena. 
When  I  became  a  boy  I  called  myself  Charlie,  but 
mother  always  called  me  Lena." 

"  Here  lies  the  woman  whom  I  so  greatly  injured,'* 
he  said.  "  In  her  presence,  Lena,  can  you — do  you — 
forgive  me  ?" 

"With  all  my  soul!"  she  answered.  "But  my 
mother  is  not  here."  She  pointed  to  the  cloudless  sky. 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  315 

"  There  !  she  will  wait  for  you  and  me  until  we  shall 
be  ready  to  join  her." 

"  For  you,  yes,"  he  said,  "  but  not  for  me.  I  have 
sinned  too  deeply." 

"  Though  they  be  as  scarlet,"  she  whispered.  "  But 
see,  they  are  bringing  the  stone." 

A  wagon  came  up  the  graveled  road.  Several 
brawny  men  lifted  out  a  piece  of  marble,  cut  in  the 
prevailing  form  of  memorial  tablets.  The  workmen 
removed  the  stone  which  marked  the  grave  of  Lena's 
mother,  and  placed  the  new  one  in  its  stead.  The 
work  occupied  but  a  few  minutes,  and  when  the  men 
were  gone  Lena  bent  down  to  examine  the  stone. 
There  was  a  pure  white  lily,  broken  at  the  stem,  and 
below  it  these  words  : 

"  To  Charlotte  Helena,  dearly  regretted  wife  of 
Hector  Grey  burn,  who  died  August  7,  18 — ,  aged  26 
years.  This  stone  is  raised  by  the  husband  who 
wronged  her." 

"You  should  not  have  used  the  last  words.  They 
are  too  harsh,"  said  Lena. 

"  It  is  in  expiation,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  called  her 
my  wife,  and  by  all  the  laws  of  Heaven  she  was  so. 
Those  who  come  here  and  see  that  the  stone  is  changed 
will  also  witness  my  repentance.  Let  us  go." 

It  was  at  Boston  that  they  finally  settled.  Lena 
was  to  have  the  best  of  educational  advantages.  They 
installed  themselves  in  a  quiet  house  at  the  Highlands. 
Lena  applied  herself  to  her  tasks  with  avidity.  Grey- 
burn  hardly  ever  left  her  for  an  hour  excepting  at 
night.  He  held  his  book  and  pretended  to  read  while 
her  tutors  gave  their  lessons.  He  walked  or  rode  with 
her  daily.  She  filled  his  whole  life,  and  when  she 
was  not  in  view  all  else  became  a  blank. 

So  passed  the  autumn  and  succeeding  winter. 
When  the  roses  came  again  Lena  had  blossomed  into 
a  beautiful  young  woman.  Her  hair,  which  had  been 


316  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

cut  in  boy's  style  formerly,  now  reached  to  her  waist 
unbraided,  or  shone  like  an  aureole  when  it  encircled 
her  queenly  head.  Her  figure  had  developed  into  one 
of  surpassing  loveliness.  She  had  made  such  progress 
in  her  studies  that  her  teachers  were  astonished.  The 
devotion  which  she  and  Greyburn  showed  to  each 
other  was  marked  by  all  who  knew  them.  There 
was  but  one  thought  in  his  mind,  one  aspiration  in 
his  soul,  one  prayer  on  his  lips — Lena  ! 

It  is  at  the  zenith  of  our  happiness  that  we  seem 
the  most  certain  to  experience  the  reverse.  One 
evening  Lena  stepped  out  of  the  front  gate  and 
strolled  slowly  down  the  street,  waiting  for  her  father, 
who  was  getting  ready  for  their  usual  walk.  She  had 
gone  but  a  little  way,  when  a  carriage  passing  by, 
stopped,  and  a  man  stepped  out. 

"Could  you  give  me  assistance  for  a  moment?"  he 
said.  "  A  lady  has  fainted." 

Wholly  unsuspecting  evil,  Lena  went  instantly  to 
the  carriage  door.  As  she  reached  it,  a  sponge  sat- 
urated with  chloroform  was  pressed  over  her  mouth 
and  nose  and  she  became  unconscious.  The  man 
who  had  accosted  her,  and  another  inside  the  carriage 
drew  her  hastily  within  the  door,  and  the  vehicle 
rolled  rapidly  away. 

Greyburn  came  out  of  the  house  a  few  minutes 
later  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street  for  his  daugh- 
ter. They  had  not  agreed  upon  any  particular  direc- 
tion for  their  stroll,  and  he  was  a  little  surprised  that 
she  was  not  to  be  seen.  He  went  back  into  the  house, 
and  ascertaining  that  she  had  certainly  passed  out,  he 
returned  to  the  gate  by  no  means  reassured.  A  police 
officer  making  his  evening  rounds  came  along,  and 
Greyburn  learned  that  he  had  passed  no  lady  answer- 
ing Lena's  description.  The  officer  soon  learned  the 
cause  of  his  uneasiness. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  her,"  said  Greyburn, 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  317 

with  a  very  pale  face.  "  She  would  never  have 
walked  so  far  away  alone." 

"  What  do  you  imagine  ?"  asked  the  officer. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  despairingly.  "  Are 
you  sure  that  you  did  not  pass  her  coming  up  the 
street  ?" 

"  Positive,"  said  the  officer  "  I  met  only  a  boy,  and 
that  was  some  distance  below  here.  Nothing  but  a 
boy — and  a  carriage." 

"  Then,"  said  Greyburn,  paling  still  more  at  the 
thought,  "  my  daughter  is  in  the  carriage.  Could  you 
see  its  occupants  ?" 

"  I  could  not.  But  why  do  you  suspect  this  ?  Did 
you  fear  an — elopement  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Greyburn,  quickly.  "  She  has  been 
stolen.  What  can  we  do  ?  Speak,  man  !  The  treas- 
ure of  my  life  is  lost !" 

"First,  let  us  be  sure  that  she  went  in  the  car- 
riage," said  the  policeman.  "  Who  would  have  taken 
such  means  to  secure  her  possession  !" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  couldn't  guess,"  exclaimed  the 
tortured  man.  "  But  I  know  that  she  is  there.  This 
is  the  first  time  that  she  has  ever  left  me  for  a  mo- 
ment since  we  came  to  Boston.  We  must  find  that 
carriage.  Tell  me  what  to  do.  Help  me  to  find  my 
child  and  you  may  name  your  own  reward." 

"Come  with  me  to  Station  IX.,"  said  the  officer. 
"  From  there  we  can  send  word  to  headquarters,  and 
thus  all  over  the  city." 

They  repaired  with  all  possible  speed  to  the  station, 
and  soon  every  police  officer  in  Boston  knew  that  a 
young  lady,  sixteen  years  of  age,  slender,  rather  tall, 
with  chestnut  hair  inclined  to  be  wavy,  and  dressed  in 
brown  silk,  was  supposed  to  have  been  carried  away 
in  a  public  carriage  from  the  vicinity  of  Warren 
street,  about  seven  o'clock  that  evening. 

The  officer  could   give  no  description  of  the  car- 


318  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

riage,  horses  or  driver.  It  was  rather  dark  when 
they  passed  him,  and  there  was  nothing  about  them 
to  especially  attract  his  attention.  The  Lieutenant 
in  charge  of  the  station,  having  done  all  that  he 
could  in  recording  the  description  and  sending  mes- 
sages, ordered  the  officer  to  return  to  his  beat,  and 
suggested  to  Greyburn  that  he  had  best  get  a  car- 
riage and  go  to  the  central  office  at  City  Hall. 

The  unhappy  father  complied  with  these  sugges- 
tions, and  half  an  hour  later  was  in  consultation  with 
Deputy  Chief  Quinn,  who  had  already  despatched 
several  of  his  detectives  in  search  of  the  lost  girl. 
The  absolute  despair  which  was  painted  on  Grey- 
burn's  face  drew  genuine  expressions  of  pity  from 
the  Deputy,  used  as  he  was  to  sorrow  and  crime.  • 

"And  you  can  imagine  no  one  who  might  have 
done  this  thing  ?"  said  he.  "  Try  to  think." 

"  I  have  tried,"  said  Greyburn.  "  There  are  men 
who  might  wish  to  revenge  themselves  upon  me,  but 
who  could  harbor  ill  to  that  innocent  girl  ?  She 
knows  no  one.  We  have  lived  secluded.  I  tremble 
to  think  what  must  be  the  motive  for  her  capture." 

He  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead  and 
shook  like  a  palsied  man.. 

"  Some  one  may  have  taken  her  to  hold  for  a  re- 
ward," said  the  Deputy. 

"  God  grant  it !"  said  Greyburn,  solemnly.  "  I 
would  give  every  dollar  I  have — yes,  bind  myself  to 
work  and  earn  as  much  more,  to  have  her  safe  in  my 
arms  again." 

"  We  will  hope  that  that  is  the  secret  of  this 
mystery,"  said  the  Deputy,  "but  think  once  more. 
One  of  your  enemies  might  try  and  revenge  himself 
on  you  through  her." 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  "  but  those  who  might  do  that 
do  not  know  that  we  are  in  Boston.  We  have  lived 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  319 

here  quietly,  even  passing  under  assumed  names,  in 
order  to  avoid  everybody  we  have  ever  known." 

"  Will  yon  tell  me  your  real  name  ?"  said  Mr 
Quinn.  "  It  may  help  us." 

"  It  could  not,"  replied  Greyburn,  desperately. 
"  Find  me  my  daughter.  She  went  out  into  one  of 
your  streets  and  disappeared.  Good  Heavens !  to 
think  that  I  must  stand  here,  while  she  is  in,  God 
knows  what  peril  !  I  have  told  you  all  I  can.  I  will 
pay  any  reward  in  reason  for  the  first  news  of  her." 
Then  he  staggered  a  little  and  added  :  "  I  will  re- 
turn in  a  few  minutes,  but  I  must  get  the  outdoor  air 
or  I  shall  faint."  So  saying  the  unhappy  man  left 
the  office  and  passed  out  into  School  street. 

Mechanically  he  walked  along.  The  cool  air  of  the 
night  swept  over  his  heated  face,  and  brought  a  slight 
sense  of  relief.  His  loss  was  too  great  for  him  to 
realize  yet.  He  walked  on.  The  old  days  at  Macon 
and  Chatham  Corners  came  into  his  mind.  He 
seemed  again  to  stand  in  the  court-room  and  see  that 
boyish  figure  in  the  witness  box.  He  seemed  to  kneel 
once  more  in  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  and  beg 
the  child  to  let  him  save  his  life.  Then  he  was  back 
in  New  York  City  with  Charlie.  Then  they  were  at 
Gabrielle's,  and  the  boy  changed  into  a  young 
woman,  who  was  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  crying,  "  I  am  your  daughter  !"  Then  they  were 
in  Boston.  And  at  last,  he  came  out  of  the  house  to 
find  her  gone,  and  to  learn  that  she  had  been  stolen. 

Hush  ! 

He  stopped  in  his  walk  and  looked  around.  He  did 
not  recognize  the  locality.  Had  he  been  asleep  and 
dreaming  ?  He  pressed  his  hand  to  his  head.  It  was 
very  hot  !  Was  he  dreaming  still  ?  Was  it  all  a 
dream,  and  Lena  now  safe  at  home  ?  His  brain  felt 
a  little  as  it  tlid  after  the  fall  over  the  Chatham  rocks, 


320  THOU  SHALT  NOT. 

during  those  weeks  when  he  did  not  know  who  or 
what  he  was. 

He  looked  at  the  houses.  The  street  was  a  very 
quiet  one,  and  hardly  any  passers  were  to  be  seen. 
How  could  he  have  walked  here  without  knowing  it  ? 
Horrible  thoughts  began  to  suggest  themselves.  Was 
he  insane  ?  Lena  was  lost,  and  he  who  ought  to  be 
engaged  in  searching  for  her  was  wandering  almost 
in  a  trance,  and  whither  even  himself  knew  not. 

Lena  ! 

The  door  of  the  house  in  front  of  which  he  stood 
opened  and  a  man  stepped  out.  Was  this  another 
dream  ?  The  face  was  one  he  had  known — but  here  ! 
And  at  this  time  !  He  resolved  to  test  whether  it 
were  real  or  no,  and,  springing  up  the  steps,  he  caught 
the  man  by  the  shoulder  and  turned  him  as  quick  as 
lightning  toward  the  broad  glare  of  the  street  lamp. 

«  WALTER  !" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ONE  was  as  white  as  the  other.  In  the  face  of  the 
younger  man  the  elder  read  guilt.  In  the  face  of  the 
elder  the  younger  read  something  that  was  not  venge- 
ance, not  despair,  not  .  horror — but  a  worse  thing 
than  all  three. 

"  Walter  Campbell !" 

"  What  do  you  want  ?" 

"  My  daughter." 

"  What  do  I  know  about  her  ?" 

"  Give  her  to  me  !" 

The  grip  on  the  shoulder  tightened.     There  was  no 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  321 

way  to  escape  the  maniac,  and  Walter's  thoughts 
took  another  turn. 

"Come  in.     We  don't  want  a  row  in  the  street." 

They  stepped  into  the  parlor,  Walter  closing-  the 
door  behind  them.  The  grip  had  never  once  left  his 
shoulder. 

"Now,"  he  repeated,  mustering  more  courage, 
"  what  do  you  want  ?" 

"  My  child  !"  said  Greyburn,  glowering  into  his  eyes 
like  a  tiger  at  bay. 

"  Take  your  hands  off,  or  I  will  say  nothing.  If  I 
am  to  reply  to  your  questions,  you  must  treat  me  like 
a  gentleman." 

"Give  her  back  to  me,"  he  said,  releasing  his  hold, 
and  changing  his  voice  to  a  pleading  tone. 

"  Who  ?"  demanded  Walter,  striving  to  collect  his 
thoughts  and  decide  what  was  best  to  do. 

"  Lena,  my  child.     Why  do  you  delay  ?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her." 

"  Now  you  are  lying  !"  said  Greyburn,  fixing  his 
eyes  upon  him  with  increased  fierceness.  "You 
seized  her  this  evening  and  took  her  away  in  a  car- 
riage. Where  is  she  ?" 

"  Who  told  you  that  story  ?"  said  Walter. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Greyburn,  earnestly.  "  Don't 
deny  it  !  I  will  never  let  it  do  you  harm,  only  give 
her  back  to  me  !  I  pledge  you  my  sacred  word. 
Don't  you  see  how  I  suffer  !" 

Walter  Campbell  stepped  back  several  paces  and 
the  color  came  into  his  white  face. 

"  you  suffer  !"  he  cried.  "  You!  And  you  ask 
sympathy  and  aid  of  me  ?  Whose  sister  did  you  lure 
to  her  betrayal  ?  The  honor  of  whose  family  did  you 
tarnish  forever  ?  What  brother's  name  did  you  make 
the  laughing  stock  of  New  York  ?  Come  a  step 
nearer  and  I  will  kill  you  !" 

When  Greyburn  recovered  enough  from  this  out- 


322  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

burst,  which  filled  him  with  renewed  alarm,  to  see 
what  was  going-  on,  he  beheld  Campbell  standing  in 
front  of  him  with  a  revolver  in  his  hand. 

"  I  do  not  fear  your  weapon,"  said  Greyburn,  sadly. 
'  As  to  what  you  say,  you  have  been  misinformed." 

"  What  !  Have  you  the  effrontery  to  deny  what  all 
New  York  knows  ?  Are  you  a  coward  as  well  as  a 
villain  ?" 

Greyburn  shook  his  head  deprecatingly. 

"  If  I  stood  with  a  loaded  pistol  in  front  of  an  un- 
armed and  nearly  crazed  man  whom  I  had  wronged, 
I  wouldn't  ask  him  that  question." 

Walter  threw  the  pistol  upon  a  sofa  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  and  said  : 

"  Now  we  are  on  equal  terms  and  I  ask  it  again." 

"  And  I  reply  as  I  did  before,  that  you  have  been 
misinformed.  I  never  betrayed  your  sister.  I  never 
said  a  word  to  her  that  was  not  dictated  by  blind,  re- 
sistless love.  She  became  my  wife  as  pure  as  an 
angel.  She  was  too  pure,  too  good  for  me,  and  we 
separated.  They  who  have  told  you  differently  are  to 
blame.  If  this  is  your  revenge  for  Clara,  it  is  ill  done. 
Give  me  my  child  and  let  me  go  !" 

The  young  man  looked  upon  him  with  contempt 
written  in  every  feature. 

"  Did  you  not  wager  to  defile  her  ?"  he  said,  bitterly. 
"  Did  you  not  covenant  with  Otis  Middleby  for  so 
much  money  to  make  her  name  a  by- word  ?  Did  you 
not  go  to  Clarence  Perkyns  and  claim  the  forfeit  ? 
Answer  ?" 

Greyburn  drew  a  disheartened  breath. 

"  Walter,  that  I  did  wrong  I  do  not  deny,  but  you 
accuse  me  of  too  much.  You  were  there  when  the 
wager  was  made.  You  are  aware  that  I  did  not  know 
what  name  was  to  be  inserted  in  the  compact.  You 
remember — you  saw  me — how  affected  I  was  when  I 
found  it  to  be  that  of  the  woman  I  loved  the  best  in  all 


Give  me  my  child."     Page  322. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  323 

the  world.  You  know  how  they  had  surrounded  me. 
They  had  half  of  all  I  was  worth  in  their  hands.  I 
did  claim  the  money.  I  did  make  them  think  I  had  a 
right  to  it,  but  my  dishonor  went  no  further.  I  de- 
ceived them  as  they  tried  to  deceive  me.  I  could  con- 
vince you,  had  I  time  and  the  witnesses,  but  while  we 
are  talking,  where  is  my  child  ?  Tell  me  that  she  is 
safe  ;  assure  me  that  no  one  will  harm  her,  and  I  will 
wait  as  long  as  you  please." 

"  You  don't  believe  me,  then,"  said  Walter,  "  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  haven't  seen  her  ?  Well,  let  us  sup- 
pose that  you  are  right.  Let  us  suppose  that  I  have 
her  safe  somewhere  under  lock  and  key.  I  may  have 
good  cause,  for  all  you  know.  I  may  have  bet  money  on 
her  /" 

The  sarcasm  with  which  he  uttered  these  words 
and  the  cruel  effect  which  they  had  on  his  victim  may 
be  imagined. 

"Walter — Walter,"  he  stammered,  "you  are  carry- 
ing this  thing  too  far.  You  ought  not —  you " 

''Or,  supposing — merely  supposing,"  continued 
Campbell,  "that  I  am  as  noble  a  man  as  you,  I  ma-y 
keep  the  girl  over  night  where  the  associations  will 
blast  her  reputation,  and  then,  as  a  balm  to  her  sor- 
rows, offer  myself  to  her  in  the  morning  in  marriage. 
That  you  wouldn't  call  unfair.  That  would  be  hon- 
est, honorable,  worthy  of  commendation,  wouldn't 
it?" 

"  Walter  !" 

"And,"  he  proceeded,  in  the  same  caustic  vein, 
"after  doing  this  high-minded  thing,  I  might  live 
with  her  for  a  few  weeks  and  then,  concluding  that 
she  was  '  too  good  '  for  me,  desert  her.  Do  you 
see  ?" 

Greyburn  threw  himself  at  his  companion's  feet. 

"  Revenge  yourself  on  me,"  he  cried,  "and  not  on 
an  innocent  child.  See  !  I  am  at  your  feet  !  I  beg, 


324  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

I  entreat  you,  give  me  my  danghter.  You  may  take 
all  else  I  have,  I  freely  promise  it  to  you.  Give  me 
Lena  and  let  me  go  !" 

Tears  and  sobs,  the  tears  and  sobs  of  a  strong  man 
unused  to  weeping,  mingled  with  these  entreaties. 
Walter  smiled  grimly  down  upon  the  suppliant  figure. 

"  You  are  touched  at  last  !"  he  said,  between  his 
set  teeth.  "  You  have  a  vulnerable  spot  and  I  have 
found  it.  Why,  what  a  fool  you  are  !  One  girl's 
honor,  more  or  less,  what  is  it  worth  ?  How  often 
you  have  instructed  me  in  that  school !  Can't  you 
take  one  single  glass  of  your  own  medicine  ?  How 
many  women  havejw/  lured  to  their  ruin  ?  A  dozen  ? 
a  score  ?  a  hundred  ?  See  how  sweet  it  is  to  have  the 
viper  rear  his  head  on  your  own  hearthstone  !" 

"  No,  no  !"  cried  Grey  burn.  "  Say  not  so  !  I  never 
was  a  kidnapper.  I  never  used  force.  Walter  !  I 
beg,  I  implore  you,  give  me  Lena  and  let  me  go  !" 

"  You  never  used  force  !"  repeated  Walter,  bitterly. 
"  No,  you  had  more  subtle  weapons  !  The  rattlesnake 
fascinates  the  bird  for  whose  quick  flight  he  is  inade- 
quate. The  spider  spins  his  gossamer  for  the  fly  who 
could  never  be  caught  by  the  fleetness  of  his  feet. 
Of  that  ilk  are  you.  Why  then  should  you  complain 
that  the  hawk  or  the  panther  seizes  its  prey  boldly  and 
openly.  Is  their  way  less  honorable  than  yours  ?" 

"  Oh,  Walter  !"  cried  the  unhappy  man,  writhing  un- 
der the  torture  of  his  words,  "  for  what  evil  I  have  done 
Heaven  is  meting  me  my  punishment.  I  would  blot 
it  all  out  were  that  possible.  Since  I  recovered  my 
child  I  have  lived  a  life  of  honor,  learning  from  her 
pure  mind  how  much  better  it  is  than  sin,  which 
pleases  for  the  time  only,  to  scorch  and  curse  at  last. 
I  am  sufficiently  abased.  You  know  what  it  has 
taken  to  make  me  kneel.  You  know  that,  for  my  own 
life,  though  it  were  menaced  by  the  slow  agonies  of 
torture,  I  would  not  beg,  if  one  word  would  save  it. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  325 

Once  more,  for  the  sake  of  all  you  hold  dear,  in  the 
name  of  your  mother  in  heaven,  I  ask  you — give  me 
my  child  and  let  me  go  !" 

For  answer,  Walter  threw  a  look  of  hate  and  con- 
tempt upon  him,  and  pulled  a  bell  rope  which  hung 
near  where  he  stood.  Two  stalwart  fellows  answered 
the  summons. 

"  Secure  that  man  !"  said  Walter.  Greyburn 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  men, 
who  advanced  toward  him. 

"  Stand  off  !"  he  cried,  all  his  manliness  returning. 
"Touch  me  at  your  peril  !" 

The  men  did  not  seem  to  relish  their  task,  and  at 
this  sign  of  resistance  they  halted,  looking  to  Walter 
for  instructions. 

"  D — n  you,  why  don't  you  obey  ?"  he  said,  angrily. 
"  You  are  to  be  well  paid.  Secure  him,  as  I  tell  you. 
He  is  not  armed." 

Thus  assured,  the  men  with  one  impulse  dashed 
upon  Greyburn.  He  struck  the  foremost  a  blow  with 
his  right  fist  which  sent  him  reeling  to  the  floor,  arid 
gave  the  other  a  "left-hander"  under  the  chin,  which 
caused  him  to  retreat  with  a  loud  yell  of  pain.  Seeing 
the  fate  of  his  employes,  Walter  bounded  to  their 
assistance,  but  Greyburn  reached  the  sofa  where  the 
revolver  lay,  and  its  ugly  muzzle  confronted  the 
young  man.  With  the  pistol  in  his  right  hand  and 
his  left  on  Walter's  throat,  the  now  thoroughly 
aroused  Greyburn  stood,  demanding  his  child  in 
louder  tones  than  ever,  wholly  unmindful  of  the  fact 
that  the  person  he  was  addressing  had  lost  all  power, 
from  the.  compression  on  his  vocal  organs,  to  make 
any  answer  whatever. 

The  grip  on  Walter's  throat  was  like  a  clasp  of 
iron,  and  rendered  him  entirely  powerless.  Had  it 
continued  much  longer,  he  would  never  have  been 
able  to  speak  again  in  this  world.  An  interruption 


326  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

caused  the  pressure  to  be  withdrawn.  It  was  a  loud 
peal  at  the  door-bell. 

The  man  who  had  been  knocked  to  the  floor  was 
still  insensible.  The  other  started  at  the  sound  of 
the  bell  to  escape  through  a  rear  door,  but  Greyburn 
leveled  his  revolver  at  him,  and  cried  : 

"  Answer  that  bell,  or  you  are  a  dead  man  !" 

"  Don't  shoot  !"  cried  the  fellow,  dropping  upon  his 
knees  in  abject  terror. 

"  Answer  that  bell  !"  Greyburn  cried  again,  in  a 
voice  of  thunder. 

The  bell  pealed  louder  than  before,  and  the  fright- 
ened wretch  did  as  he  was  bid.  Directly  the  door 
was  opened,  half  a  dozen  policemen  in  citizens'  clothes 
sprang  into  the  house,  and  in  less  time  than  it  re- 
quires to  tell  it,  had  each  of  the  occupants  securely 
handcuffed. 

"  Not  a  sound  !"  whispered  each  officer.  One,  a 
sergeant,  who  seemed  to  be  in  command,  noticed  the 
unconscious  man  on  the  carpet  and  said  :  "  So  you 
have  been  fighting  among  yourselves,  eh  ?  Pity  you 
hadn't  all  got  killed.  Say,  where's  the  gal  ?" 

"  For  God's  sake,"  said  Greyburn,  who  at  last  found 
words  to  speak,  "  who  are  you  ?" 

"  We're  police  officers,  as  I  guess  you'll  find  out  to 
your  sorrow,"  responded  the  official,  opening  his  coat 
to  show  a  badge.  "  Come,  where's  the  gal  ?  Be 
quick  about  it.  It'll  be  just  as  well,  you  know.  We've 
traced  her  here  and  we  know  she's  in  the  house.  Do 
you  want  us  to  bust  in  all  the  doors,  or  will  you  give 
her  up  like  sensible  men  ?" 

"Thank  Heaven  !"  cried  Greyburn,  devoutly.  "I 
am  her  father,  and  will  reward  you  well.  Take  these 
things  off  my  wrists.  Walter,  tell  them  where  she 
is.  What  can  you  gain  now  by  delay  ?" 

The  sergeant  looked  incredulous  at  first  and  then 
seemed  partially  convinced. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  327 

"  Take  'em  off,"  he  whispered,  "  but  look  out  for 
him."  Visions  of  losing  the  reward  by  making  a  pos- 
sible mistake  came  into  his  mind. 

"  Walter,  where  is  she  ?"  Greyburn  asked  again. 

"  What  good  will  it  do  me  to  tell  ?"  he  replied,  dog- 
gedly. "  Will  you  make  these  cops  let  me  out  of  here?" 

"  I  can't  do  that,  but  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  get  you 
free  afterwards.  Where  is  she  ?  Every  second  is 
an  hour  to  me." 

"  She's  in  the  top  story,  in  the  large  back  room," 
was  the  sullen  reply.  "  She  isn't  hurt  any.  You'll 
find  her  all  right  except  a  little  dizzy  from  the  chloro- 
form. Take  these  irons  off  and  I'll  give  you  the  keys." 

Greyburn  grasped  the  keys  and  started  up  the 
stairs,  closely  followed  by  the  sergeant  and  two  of 
his  men.  The  others  remained  with  the  prisoners. 

"  How  came  he  here  ?"  said  the  officer,  who  guarded 
Walter,  pointing  to  the  staircase. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  "  The  devil  sent 
him,  I  reckon.  He's  choked  me  nearly  to  death.  If 
you're  a  man  take  me  to  the  door,  where  I  can  get  a 
breath  of  air.  I'm  swooning  away." 

He  looked  terribly  pale  and  the  officer  willingly 
complied  with  his  request.  As  they  reached  the 
doorway,  Walter  put  his  hand  into  his  vest  pocket  and 
produced  a  roll  of  bills.  No  words  passed  between 
him  and  the  officer,  but  they  understood  each  other. 
The  money  was  placed  in  the  policeman's  hand  al- 
most before  he  was  aware  of  it,  and  his  prisoner  fled 
down  the  street.  Several  pistol-shots  sent  in  the 
direction  of  the  cloudy  sky  above,  and  a  brisk  chase 
up  a  side  street  where  Walter  had  not  gone  followed, 
and  the  officer  returned  after  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes  very  much  out  of  breath. 

"  Dern  the  cuss  !"  he  said  to  his  associates.  "  He 
pretended  to  be  so  near  dead  that  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  faint,  when  all  at  once  he  tipped  me  over 


328  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

and  run  like  a  deer.  I  fired  at  him  four  times  and  I 
think  I  winged  him,  but  he  got  away.  He  went  like 
the  wind.  I  guess  I'll  go  to  the  station  and  leave 
word.  They'll  be  sure  to  catch  him  to-morrow." 

When  Greyburn  reached  the  door  in  the  attic,  his 
hand  trembled  so  violently  that  he  could  not  use  the 
keys.  The  sergeant  took  them  and  turned  them  in 
their  respective  locks.  The  room  was  perfectly 
dark,  and  a  shudder  passed  over  even  the  stout- 
hearted sergeant  of  police  as  he  entered  it.  A  girl's 
voice,  and  a  very  weak  one,  broke  the  silence  of  the 
terrible  place. 

"Not  yet  !"  it  cried.  "  Give  me — a  little — longer. 
I  cannot— escape.  The  windows— are  all — barred, 
and  the — door  is — strong.  Come — in  an  hour  and  I 
— will  not — ask  you  to  wait — longer." 

Greyburn's  eyes  were  brimming  over  with  scald- 
ing tears.  He  made  his  way  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound,  while  the  sergeant  was  searching  in  his  pock- 
ets for  a  match.  The  girl  heard  him  approaching 
and  cried  out  again  in  terror,  and  yet  hardly  above  a 
whisper  : 

"  Oh,  not  yet !     Please,  please,  not  yet  ?" 

"  Lena  !"  he  called. 

"Whose  voice  is  that  ?"  she  cried.     "  Speak  !" 

"  It  is  I,  darling,  your  father." 

The  flash  of  the  match  showed  the  girl  lying  upon  a 
bed  on  the  farther  side  of  the  room.  Her  hair  was 
disheveled,  her  dress  torn,  and  her  white  face  hardly 
looked  as  if  she  was  still  alive. 

"  Father  !"  she  gasped,  trying  to  lift  herself  from 
the  pillow.  "  Oh,  have  you  come  at  last  !" 

The  policeman  found  the  gas-jet  and  lit  it,  and 
then,  .at  a  motion  from  the  sergeant,  all  thoughtfully 
retired  outside  and  closed  the  door. 

"  Lena,  has  he  hurt  you  ?"  were  Greyburn's  first 
words.  "  You  are  very  pale.  Has  he  done  you 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  329 

wrong  ?  If  he  has,"  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a 
wild  look,  "I  will  kill  him  now." 

The  girl  put  out  her  hands  and  recalled  him  to 
her  side. 

"'Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay,  saith  the 
Lord,'  "  she  repeated,  faintly.  "  Papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling,"  he  answered,  broken  down  at 
the  childish  word  she  had  never  used  before. 

"  Papa,  listen  to  me  and  hear  all  I  have  to  say. 
You  know  what  I  promised  my  mother  before  she 
went  away — that  I  would  choose  death  rather  than 
do  wrong.  Papa,  I  have  kept  my  word." 

"  It  is  well  for  him"  he  muttered. 

"  They  seized  me,  with  some  drug  to  make  me  in- 
sensible, and  brought  me  here.  The  man  who  led 
them  offered  me  insult— no  !  don't  speak — hear  me 
out.  I  persuaded  him  to  give  me  an  hour  in  which 
to  compose  myself.  The  drug  I  had  taken  made 
my  head  unsteady.  He  gave  me  the  time.  God 
answered  that  prayer.  Papa,  I  shall  go  to  my  mother 
pure." 

She  pressed  his  hand  against  her  cheek,  while  he 
sobbed  out  that  she  was  all  purity,  all  goodness. 

"  Papa,  my  voice  is  weak.     1  can  only  whisper." 

"  I  know  it,  my  angel  !  I  will  send  for  a  carriage 
and  take  you  home,  where  a  doctor  shall  prescribe  for 
you.  They  have  frightened  you  to  death — poor  little 
white  dove  !" 

"  Papa,"  she  whispered,  as  he  stooped  low  to  hear 
the  words,  coming  yet  fainter  than  before.  "  Be  brave, 
be  strong.  See,  I  do  not  cry.  I  am  going  to  my 
mother." 

The  terror  in  her  words  seemed  to  turn  him  into 
stone. 

"  It  is  not  the  fright,"  she  continued,  speaking  very 
slowly.  "  I  could  not  do  wrong.  I  knew  God  would 


33O  THOU    SHALT    NOT. 

forgive  me,  and  I  had  no  hope  in  that  man's  mercy. 
Papa,  I  am  bleeding  to  death." 

He  roused  himself  to  call  loudly  for  help  and  to 
tell  the  men  outside  to  go — for  the  love  of  God  ! — and 
get  a  physician. 

"  There's  no  need, "she  whispered.  "  Before  he  can 
get  here  I  shall  be  gone.  Listen,  papa.  I  am  going 
to  my  mother.  What  can  I  tell  her — tor  you  ?" 

"Oh  Lena!  Lena!"  he  cried,  "your  words  are 
killing  me  !" 

"Shall  I  tell  her  that  you  will  always  do  right? 
that  you  will  meet  us  there  ?  that " 

The  sergeant,  who  had  sent  his  men  in  opposite 
directions  for  medical  aid,  stole  into  the  room,  and 
stood  with  uncovered  head,  watching  the  heartrending 
spectacle. 

"  They  have  murdered  her  !"  cried  Greyburn. 

The  girl  roused  herself  a  little. 

"Understand,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper  hardly  to  be 
heard  even  in  that  still  room,  and  showing  a  small  stil- 
letto,  "  I — did  it — myself.  I  always  kept  it  by  me. 
I  promised  my  dying  mother  that  I  would  sooner  die 
than " 

She  fell  back. 

A  moment  later  a  physician  entered  the  room  and 
looked  at  the  quiet  face. 

"  I  fear  I  am  too  late,  sir,"  he  said. 


THOU  SHALT  NOT.  331 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MONTHS  have  gone  by,  and  the  violets  are  blooming 
on  Lena  Greyburn's  grave.  Hector  has  borne  his 
loss,  as  such  losses  must  be  borne,  so  long  as  Death 
stalks  into  our  homes  and  makes  our  hearts  desolate. 
He  would  have  welcomed  the  destroyer  gladly,  had  it 
come  for  him,  but  his  fate  was  to  wait  and  to  suffer. 

Lena  was  buried  at  Fairfield,  and  in  this  secluded 
village  Greyburn  made  his  home.  He  boarded  with 
an  aged  couple,  who  respected  his  evident  wish  for 
privacy.  Month  after  month  he  lived  there,  staying 
a  great  deal  in  his  rooms,  and  never  receiving  a  visi- 
tor of  any  sort.  The  only  thing  for  which  he  ever  left 
the  house  was  to  take  an  early  horseback  ride,  a  thing 
absolutely  necessary  for  his  health,  and  a  walk  in  the 
evening  to  the  cemetery,  where  he  would  sit  often  very 
late,  lost  in  reverie,  by  the  side  of  her  with  whom  all 
his  love,  all  his  life,  all  his  ambition  lay  buried.  Twice 
during  the  first  few  weeks  the  sexton,  who  could  see 
from  his  residence  all  who  went  in  and  out  of  the 
cemetery,  found  Gre"yburn  at  nearly  midnight  uncon- 
scious on  his  daughter's  grave.  On  being  roused  by 
the  application  of  simple  restoratives,  he  was  able  to 
walk  home  with  assistance,  but  seemed  like  a  man 
dazed,  and  never  alluded  to  the  circumstance  when  he 
met  the  sexton  afterwards. 

Mr.  John  Bird  came  up  to  see  him — once — and  made 
arrangements  about  sending  at  regular  intervals  the 
small  sums  of  money  required  for  his  inexpensive  way 
of  living.  He  also  sent  a  number  of  books,  which 
proved  the  onjy  solace  left  to  his  disconsolate  client. 
Greyburn  had  never  been  a  great  reader,  but  now  he 


332  THOU    SHALT  NOT. 

devoured  volume  after  volume.  History,  philosophy, 
science,  religion  or  romance — it  was  all  one  to  him. 
At  first  he  read  thoughtlessly,  but  soon  the  medicine 
of  aroused  thought  began  to  work,  and  he  turned  to 
his  books  with  something  akin  to  satisfaction,  if  not 
pleasure. 

It  will  seem  a  strange  thing,  but  not  one  idea  of 
vengeance  on  Walter  Campbell  ever  entered  his  head. 
He  did  not  forget,  in  those  horrible  hours  when  the 
minutest  particulars  of  his  tragedy  used  to  run  through 
and  through  his  mind,  that  Walter  was  the  real  mur- 
derer of  Lena.  He  recalled  the  abduction,  the  im- 
prisonment, the  threats  which  had  driven  the  unhappy 
girl  to  suicide.  But  through  the  confused  channels 
of  his  memory  there  was  no  trace  of  vindictiveness, 
no  special  blame  for  any  one — unless,  indeed,  himself. 
For  Hector  Greyburn  had  come  to  realize  that  had 
his  own  life  been  different,  had  his  own  acts  been 
other  than  what  they  were,  the  present  deplorable 
condition  of  things  could  not  have  existed. 

He  thought  of  Clara,  as  he  thought  of  everything 
and  everybody.  He  wondered  where  she  was,  and 
whether  she  ever  thought  of  him.  He  wondered  if 
she  had  read  in  the  newspapers  of  Lena's  death,  or 
had  heard  in  any  way  the  part  her  brother  had  in  the 
matter.  He  hoped  that  she  would  not  write  or  come. 
Not  that  he  felt  any  sentiment  of  animosity  toward 
her — not  by  any  means — but  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed.  He  was  so  changed  that  his  only  desire 
was  to  be  left  alone.  You  might  have  searched  his 
heart  and  found  in  it  no  particle  of  hatred  toward  a 
living  soul,  but  he  would  make  no  new  friendships  nor 
renew  old  ones. 

Among  the  books  which  he  read  with  the  greatest 
interest  was  the  Bible.  He  had  a  superficial  knowl- 
edge of  its  contents,  but  now  he  read  it  with  the 
greatest  interest.  He  surprised  Mr.  John  Bird  by  a 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  333 

request  for  half  a  dozen  of  the  best  commentaries, 
and  when  he  received  them,  he  studied  the  Holy 
Book  by  their  aid  with  the  zeal  of  a  theological  stu- 
dent. One  Sunday  he  appeared  at  the  village  meet- 
ing-house, to  the  astonishment  of  pastor  and  people, 
but  as  he  engaged  a  seat  and  never  missed  a  service 
after  that,  the  wonder  soon  died  away.  When  the 
minister  called  to  express  his  gratification  at  Grey- 
burn's  sudden  interest  in  religion,  he  found  him 
buried  in  his  Bible  and  commentaries.  The  conver- 
sation was  very  brief,  however. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  call,"  Greyburn  said,  "  but  I 
am  living  alone  and  make  it  a  rule  to  receive  no  one. 
You  will  not  take  it  unkindly  when  I  say  that  here- 
after I  can  make  no  exception." 

Where  was  Clara  ?  In  a  country  town  out  in  Wis- 
consin she  was  again  living  the  quiet  life  of  a  school 
teacher.  When  she  left  Chatham  she  would  not 
take  with  her  of  Greyburn's  property,  even  his  name. 
She  was  known  to  her  scholars  as  Miss  Campbell. 
With  her  modest  salary,  and  the  proceeds  from  the 
sale  of  the  parsonage  placed  in  the  savings  bank,  she 
reckoned  herself  out  of  the  reach  of  poverty,  as  her 
wants  were  very  few.  Fully  convinced  that  her  hus- 
band would  never  relent,  she  resigned  herself  to  cir- 
cumstances. While  hardly  what  one  could  call  happy, 
she  experienced  that  quiet  comfort  which  must  al- 
ways proceed  from  a  pure  mind  and  clear  conscience. 
If  there  were  nights  when  she  wept  herself  to  sleep, 
they  were  followed  by  mornings  when  she  rose  with 
renewed  strength  and  confidence  in  the  ultimate  good- 
ness and  wisdom  of  all  the  dispensations  of  Heaven. 
She  would  not  even  read  a  newspaper,  for  fear  that 
something  in  it  might  disturb  that  serenity  of  mind 
which  she  sought  to  cultivate.  Thus  it  happened 
that  even  the  circumstances  attending  Lena's  death, 


334  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

which  were  reported  by  the  Associated  Press  and 
spread  broadcast  over  the  country,  failed  to  reach  her 
eyes. 

John  Dinsmore  :  When  his  trial  was  over,  and  he 
was  pronounced  a  free  man,  he  elected  to  return  to 
New  York  city,  where  he  sought  to  keep  himself  in- 
formed of  what  the  principal  personages  in  this  story 
were  doing.  His  success  was  only  partial.  He  learned 
that  Clara  had  separated  from  her  husband,  and  that 
Hector  was  living  with  Charlie,  but  when  Greyburn 
and  his  newly-discovered  daughter  left  the  city,  the 
blacksmith  completely  lost  the  trail.  Dinsmore  was  a 
very  religious  man,  albeit  his  faith  was  more  in  a  God 
of  vengeance  than  a  Saviour  who  delights  in  forgive- 
ness. When  he  read  in  the  newspaper  the  story  of 
Lena's  death,  he  offered  a  devout  prayer  of  thanks- 
giving. He  moved  his  soundless  lips  in  praise  to  the 
Almighty,  that  the  wicked  had  at  last  been  overtaken 
in  his  sin,  and  just  punishment  meted  out  to  the  de- 
stroyer. Unable  to  walk  without  crutches,  and  then 
only  very  slowly  ;  not  capable  of  enunciating  a  single 
syllable  ;  changed  in  a  moment  from  a  brawny  man 
with  a  giant's  strength  into  a  creature  more  helpless 
than  a  child — Dinsmore  forgot  it  all  when  he  read  of 
Greyburn 's  loss.  It  proved  to  his  mind  that  the  Om- 
nipotent does  not  sleep,  and  that  there  is  something 
more  than  empty  sound  in  the  words,  "I  will  repay, 
saith  the  Lord  !" 

Walter  Campbell  kept  in  hiding  for  several  weeks 
after  he  escaped  from  the  police,  but  learning  through 
Stager  how  quietly  Greyburn  was  living  at  Fairfield, 
and  feeling  sure  that  the  prosecution  against  himself 
would  never  be  pushed,  he  turned  up  one  day  at  his 
desk  in  City  Hall,  which  Mendall's  influence  had 
retained  for  him.  But  he  was  not  a  happy  man.  The 
money  which  he  once  believed  would  give  him  all  he 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  335 

wanted  in  this  world,  failed  to  satisfy.  He  plunged 
into  the  wildest  dissipation,  and  was  almost  useless  in 
his  position,  as  well  as  a  sore  trial  to  Mendall,  who 
could  neither  induce  him  to  reform  nor  rid  himself  of 
what  soon  became  an  intolerable  nuisance. 

A  crash  in  the  affairs  of  the  men  who  had  been  en- 
riching themselves  at  the  expense  of  the  public  treas- 
ury came  soon  later,  and  all  the  world  was  astounded 
at  the  developments  which  the  New  York  Times  made 
in  relation  to  what  was  popularly  called  the  "  Tweed 
Ring."  Most  of  the  parties  inculcated  directly,  big 
and  little,  fled  the  country  ;  a  few  were  arrested  and 
sentenced  to  terms  in  jail  ;  others  surrendered  a  part 
of  their  gains  ;  some  died  in  foreign  lands.  A  very 
large  number  who  profited  by  the  rascalities  were 
never  prosecuted,  but  were  left  to  enjoy  their  wealth 
unmolested. 

Among  those  who  fled  at  the  first  alarm  was  Jacob 
Mendall.  It  may  be  as  well  to  state  here  that  he 
never  returned,  but  died  within  a  few  years  in  a 
European  city.  Walter  was  accepted  as  a  govern- 
ment witness,  and  after  a  week  in  jail  was  released  on 
bail.  The  house  on  Madison  avenue  was  attached  by 
the  sheriff  as  Mendall's  property,  and  he  had  to  vacate 
it.  With  his  occupation  gone  and  not  even  a  roof 
over  his  head,  Walter's  decline  was  rapid.  But  for 
occasional  aid  received  from  the  District  Attorney, 
who  relied  somewhat  upon  his  evidence  in  the  forth- 
coming trials,  this  youth,  so  recently  revelling  in  lux- 
ury, might  have  had  to  go  to  the  police  station  for  a 
bed  and  breakfast.  He  would  have  applied  even  to 
his  sister  in  his  extremity,  for  his  pride  vanished  in 
the  face  of  cold  and  hunger,  but  he  had  no  means  of 
obtaining  her  address.  All  his  other  friends,  as  is 
usual  in  such  cases,  gave  him  the  go-by  as  soon  as  his 
cash  was  exhausted.  Some  of  them  would  not  have 
minded  his  disgrace,  but  none  could  forgive  his  im- 


336  THOU  SHALT  NOT. 

pecuniosity.  One  day  he  sank  so  low  as  to  write  a 
note  to  Gabrielle  Delaporte,  asking  her  for  a  "  loan  " 
of  fifty  dollars.  She  sent  him  the  money,  with  a  few 
lines  to  the  effect  that  he  must  never  apply  again, 
and  that  he  must  not  dream,  on  any  account,  of  com- 
ing to  her  house.  These  chilling  words  from  the 
beauty  on  whom  he  had  lavished  thousands  quite 
crushed  him,  and  he  did  not  venture  to  disregard  her 
injunctions. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

GABRIELLE  heard  the  crash  which  crushed  her  late 
friends  to  the  earth  with  the  utmost  indifference. 
She  was  possessed  of  a  cosy  residence,  quite  a  stock 
of  valuable  jewelry  and  furniture,  and  a  snug  sum  of 
money  invested  in  eligible  securities.  What  was  it 
to  her  that  Jacob  Mendall  was  hiding  in  Paris,  Walter 
Campbell  begging  the  authorities  for  the  price  of  a 
drink,  and  Hector  Greyburn  living  desolate  and 
broken-hearted  within  sight  of  his  darling  daughter's 
grave  ?  Gabrielle  was  absolutely  incapable  of  feel- 
ing any  suffering  which  was  not  her  own.  Her  early 
life  and  later  experiences  had  made  her  what  she 
was.  During  those  days  when  other  women  tore 
their  hair  and  wept  their  eyes  red  because  husbands 
and  lovers  were  in  trouble  with  the  law,  she  sang 
like  a  linnet  in  her  elegant  parlors,  ate  her  dainty 
repasts,  tried  on  new  costumes  and  jewels  before 
the  long  mirrors,  and  rode  every  evening  in  Central 
Park  in  her  private  carriage,  with  the  indispensable 
Williams  on  the  box  and  a  brass-buttoned  footman 
beside  him. 


THOU  SHALT  NOT.  337 

One  evening,  when  she  returned  from  her  drive, 
she  called  in  her  French  maid— a  recent  addition  to 
her  household — and  passed  an  hour  in  making  herself 
as  beautiful  as  possible.  She  tried  on  four  different 
costumes  before  she  could  get  suited,  and  discussed 
with  great  animation  the  arrangement  of  her  jewels. 
When  all  was  finished,  she  looked  superbly,  if  such  a 
word  can  be  applied  to  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  of  avoirdupois,  for  Gabrielle,  though  exquis- 
itely shaped,  was  not  a  large  woman.  She  looked 
with  perfect  satisfaction  at  her  reflection  in  the 
mirror,  as  her  eyes  swept  over  everything  from  the 
ornaments  in  her  hair  to  the  satin  slippers  on  her 
feet. 

"  If  he  is  a  man,  he  must  be  moved  to-night,"  she 
murmured. 

Then  she  went  to  the  front  bay-window,  drew  the 
curtains  about  her  and  peered  down  the  street. 
Many  people  were  passing,  but  the  one  she  looked  for 
was  not  in  sight.  She  arose  impatiently  after  a  little 
while  and  sought  her  writing-desk,  from  whence  she 
took  a  note  and  read  it  over  carefully,  and  whispered 
to  herself,  "  It  is  almost  nine  o'clock.  Why  should  he 
be  so  late  ?" 

As  she  thus  mused,  the  door  bell  rang  and  she  gave 
a  joyous  start. 

"  It  is  his  ring,"  she  cried,  softly.  "  I  would  know 
it  among  a  million."  She  glanced  at  the  mirror  once 
more.  "  Gracious,  what  a  color  !  All  the  blood  I 
have  is  in  my  cheeks  !" 

A  servant  entered  and  handed  her  a  card.  She 
told  the  girl  to  say  that  she  would  come  presently, 
and,  as  she  left  the  room,  Gabrielle  kissed  the  name  on 
the  card  passionately.  Then  she  tried  to  control  her- 
self, and,  after  a  minute's  practise  before  the  pier- 
glass,  succeeded  in  resuming  her  ordinary  demeanor. 

"  Mr.  Arthur,"  she  said,  in  her  sweetest  manner,  as 


338  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

she  entered  the  room  where  that  gentleman  awaited 
her,  "  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  see  you.  But  are  you 
not  quke  late  ?" 

"lam  a  little  behind  time,"  he  admitted,  looking 
into  her  eyes,  and  holding  her  hand  a  second  longer 
than  was  necessary,  "  but  the  sun  sets  very  late  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  and " 

"  And  you  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  calling  here  now 
that  you  are  a  full-fledged  clergyman.  Don't  dispute 
it.  That  was  your  real  reason.  And  you  were  quite 
right." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  object  to  being  seen 
calling  here,"  said  Mr.  Rey croft,  confusedly.  "  Surely 
a  clergyman  ought  to  be  trusted  to  go  wherever  he 
feels  that  his  presence  will  benefit." 

"Quite  so,"  said  his  fair  companion.  "  And  yet,  the 
most  important  lady  in  New  York  would  make  a 
terrible  fuss  if  she  knew  that  you  would  even  look  up  to 
my  window.  You  know  whom  I  mean — Mrs.  Grundy." 

"  It  is  in  your  power,"  said  the  clergyman,  point- 
edly, "  to  silence  even  Mrs.  Grundy's  voice  ;  I  mean, 
by  giving  her  no  further  cause  for  comment." 

"  Excuse  me,"  replied  Gabrielle,  with  her  uswal 
vivacity,  "but  you  know  very  well  that  she  would 
never  forgive  me  though  I  should  blossom  into  a 
saint  and  live  like  an  anchorite  from  this  day  on.  As 
for  that  matter,  she  might  bend  her  condescension  a 
little  even  now.  Since  Jacob  left,  six  months  ago, 
I've  been  here  all  alone  except  the  servants,  and 
Diana  herself  could  not  have  given  less  cause  for 
complaint.  Not  for  reasons  of  a  lack  of  suitors, 
either,  as  you  might  think.  Every  mail  has  brought 
me  the  most  persuasive  missives,  and  I  have  been 
obliged  to  say  "  not  at  home"  to  a  hundred  callers.  I 
am  growing  poor,  too — I  mean  in  money,"  she  ex- 
plained, clasping  her  plump  left  arm  with  her  right 
hand  and  laughing — "just  spending  all  my  income 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  339 

and  eating  into  the  principal  in  the  most  unbusiness- 
like way.  Here  is  a  tax  bill  which  came  this  morning, 
three  hundred  dollars,  to  pay  on  this  house  and  lot. 
Isn't  it  outrageous  !  I  think  the  municipality  is 
bound  to  ruin  me." 

Mr.  Reycroft  looked  at  the  bill. 

"  It  is  paid,  I  see.  So  that  need  not  worry  you,  and 
there  won't  be  another  for  a  whole  year." 

"  Yes,  it's  paid,"  she  laughed.  "A  despairing  ad- 
mirer of  mine,  a  down-town  merchant,  happened  to 
be  here  when  the  collector  called.  Nothing  would  do 
but  he  must  settle  it.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  at  me  in 
that  way  !  I  can't  bear  him.  He  demanded  a  kiss 
for  his  three  hundred  dollars,  and  I  gave  him  a  boxed 
ear  instead.  Probably  he'll  be  around  to-morrow 
again.  Ugh !" 

Mr.  Reycroft  looked  at  the  girl  earnestly.  He  was 
trying  to  see  how  much  seriousness  there  was  under 
her  bantering  tones. 

"  Miss  Delaporte " 

"  Stop,"  she  said.     "  You  shall  not  say  one  word  to 
me  unless  you  can  call  me  Gabrielle." 
,"  Gabrielle,  I  wish  to  talk  to  you  seriously." 

"  It's  the  only  way  you  ever  do  talk  to  me,"  she  in- 
terrupted. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  continued.  "  But  this  time  I  want 
you  to  answer  me  seriously  in  return.  Will  you  ?" 

"  Yes." 

The  color,  which  distressed  her  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore, faded  all  at  once  away. 

"  I  want  you  very  much,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  to 
promise  me  that  you  will  spend  the  rest  of  your  life 
in  purity.  You  can  do  untold  good  in  this  city  if  you 
will  give  yourself  to  the  forces  of  right." 

"  Haven't  I  told  you,"  she  answered,  evasively,  "  that 
Mendall  was. my  last  lover?  Of  what  do  you  com- 
plain ?  Why,  am  I  not  living  as  you^desire  ?" 


340  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

The  clergyman  hesitated. 

"  Is  your  life  what  it  might  be  in  its  influence  ?"  he 
said.  "Ought  you,  for  instance,  to  meet  a  gentleman 
in  that  dress  which  you  are  wearing  now?" 

Gabrielle  started  to  her  feet  and  faced  the  nearest 
pier-glass.  Her  arms  were  bare  and  the  neck  of  the 
offending  garment  was  cut  very  low  ;  not  lower,  how- 
ever, than  is  seen  at  many  fashionable  balls. 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  it,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
quiver  of  the  lip,  like  a  disappointed  child.  She 
caught  up  a  big  knit  shawl  of  white  zephyr,  and 
wrapped  it  around  herself.  "  There  !  I  hope  you  are 
satisfied  now  !  I'll  wear  a  Queen  Elizabeth  ruff  here- 
after." 

He  smiled  in  spite  of  himself  at  the  absurdity  of 
her  tone  and  manner. 

"  That  is  better,"  he  said.  "  Now  listen  to  me, 
Gabrielle,  I  have  much  faith  in  you  and  believe  that 
you  will  keep  any  promise  you  make.  Say  to  me 
that  you  will  never  have  another  lover.  That  will  be 
an  excellent  beginning.  Afterward,  we  can  proceed 
to  something  more  than  mere  negatives." 

"  I  had  decided  to  do  what  you  asked  before  ypu 
put  the  question,"  she  responded,  a  little  wearily.  "  I 
am  very  tired  of  men.  There  is  but  one  in  the  world 
that  I  could  care  for,  and  I  am  certain  he  would  never 
like  me." 

He  looked  a  good  deal  more  disturbed  than  could 
have  been  expected  from  the  nature  of  her  answer. 

"  That  man  is  Hector  Greyburn  ?"  he  said,  interrog- 
atively. 

She  looked  up,  stamped  her  dainty  foot  impatiently, 
and  said  : 

"  Of  course  not  !" 

"Then  it  is  Mr.  Campbell." 

"  You  haven't  seen  him  lately,  I  think,"  she 
answered,  "  or  you  wouldn't  make  such  a  ridiculous 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  341 

guess.  He  is  a  little  drunkard,  living1  on  what  he  can 
borrow  and  beg.  If  you  had  happened  to  meet  htm 
this  summer  I  should  feel  quite  insulted." 

"  Then  it  is  evident  that  I  do  not  know  the  man  to 
whom  you  refer,"  said  Mr.  Reycroft. 

"You  know  him  well,"  said  Gabrielle,  turning  her 
head  in  an  opposite  direction,  "  but  his  name  is  of  no 
consequence  in  this  discussion,  for,  as  I  said,  he 
wouldn't  look  at  me.  He  would  count  me  the  dust 
beneath  his  feet.  And  yet,  I  love  him.  Yes  ;  after 
years  when  I  have  only  endured  or  tolerated  my 
lovers,  at  the  most,  I  love — and  love  hopelessly." 

She  stopped  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  Reverend  Arthur  Reycroft  was  as  pale  as  his 
companion. 

"  His  name — I  insist  upon  his  name  !"  he  cried, 
huskily. 

"  You  do  ?"  said  the  girl,  looking  up,  her  face  all 
damp  with  the  unaccustomed  torrent  from  her  eyes. 
"  You  insist  ?  But  I  shall  not  tell  you." 

Gabrielle  had  spent  an  hour  with  her  maid's  assist- 
ance in  preparing  herself  to  look  lovely  in  Arthur 
Reycroft's  eyes.  Dress,  jewelry,  and  her  brightest 
and  most  winning  smile,  had  been  lavished  in  vain. 
All  that  she  had  gained  by  her  pains  was  to  be  told 
that  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  meet  a  gentleman  in 
such  a  costume.  But  now,  with  her  hair  half  dishev- 
elled, with  her  cheeks  covered  with  tears  and  her 
eyes  flashing  something  which  was  almost  defiance, 
she  captivated  and  enthralled  him  ;  and  before  he  re- 
alized what  he  was  doing,  he  was  at  her  side,  lifting 
her  in  his  strong  arms  and  soothing  her  against  his 
breast,  her  fair  head  lying  upon  his  shoulder  and  his 
kisses  raining  upon  her  mouth. 

*'  Gabrielle,  tell  me  !  am  I  right  ?  Is  it  7  who  am  so 
happy  as  to  oossess  your  heart  !  Is  it — can  it  be 


342  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

She  tried  to  release  herself  from  his  grasp,  but  he 
insisted  that  she  must  answer. 

"  I  have  said  that  I  will  not  tell  you,"  she  protested, 
looking  saucily  into  his  eyes  for  one  moment.  Then, 
growing  suddenly  sober,  she  added,  "  You  forget 
what  you  are  doing,  Mr.  Arthur.  You  forget  who 
you  are — and  what  I  am.  When  you  recall  this  scene 
you  will  regret  it  and  blame  me  because  I  permitted 
it." 

"  I  will  never  blame  you,"  he  said,  passionately. 
"  I  love  you  so  intensely  that  the  world's  opinion  is 
nothing  in  comparison.  This  is  not  the  fancy  of  the 
hour  ;  it  has  been  growing  upon  me  for  two  years. 
If,  as  you  have  said,  you  will  consent  to  love  one  man 
onty,  and  I  am  that  happy  one,  I  will  devote  myself 
to  you,  and  a  thousand  Mrs.  Grundys  shall  not  stand 
in  the  way." 

The  girl  was  not  prepared  for  this  tremendous  out- 
burst. 

"  Let  me  get  a  chair,"  she  said,  striving  gently  to 
disengage  herself  from  his  clinging  arm. 

"  Not  until  you  say  that  you  will  be  my  wife,"  he 
answered,  firmly. 

"Your  wife!"  She  sprang  suddenly  away.  "Your 
wife  !  That  I  will  never  be  !  Are  you  quite  mad  ? 
You  are  a  clergyman  and  a  gentleman,  occupying  an 
exalted  place  in  the  world.  I  am  a  street  girl,  with 
all  the  name  implies.  I  love  you — I  cannot  help 
owning  what  you  already  know — 1  will  love  you  as 
long  as  I  live,  and  love  you  only,  but  marry  you — 
never  !" 

He  looked  quite  bewildered. 

"  What  do  you  mean — do  you  think  "  he  stam- 
mered.'' 

"  I  think  nothing,"  she  said,  "  except  that  our  love 
is  hopeless.  I  will  give  you  myself,  my  life,  if  you 
will  take  it,  but  it  must  be  in  such  a  way  that  when 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  343 

you  weary  of  the  bargain  you  can  give  it  up.  I  will 
not  let  you  tie  yourself  so  that  you  cannot  loose  the 
cords  if  they  become  irksome.  There  is  nothing 
about  me  fit  for  a  clergyman's  wife,  and  if  you  were 
in  your  sober  senses  you  would  know  it.  I  know 
what  you  are  going  to  say — that  you  would  give  up 
the  ministry  for  my  sake.  Such  an  idea  is  the  result 
of  temporary  dementia.  I  am  more  sensible  than 
you,  and  I  must  make  you  listen  to  reason." 

The  clergyman  gazed  at  the  girl  with  unutterable 
affection. 

"  Gabrielle,"  he  said,  "  I  am  nearly  thirty  years  of 
age,  and  I  never  cared  for  a  woman  before  I  met  you. 
My  father  left  me  a  fortune  which  makes  labor  no 
necessity.  I  adopted  the  ministry  because  I  thought 
that  I  could  do  more  good  to  my  fellow  men  in  that 
sphere  of  life  than  any  other.  Consent  to  marry  me, 
become  my  inspiration  and  my  valued  assistant  in  the 
work  of  reforming  the  world,  and  I  shall  go  to  my 
task  with  twice  the  strength  and  courage  I  have  hith- 
erto had.  If  you  object  to  the  ministry  I  will  will- 
ingly resign  it,  as  it  is  not  the  only  field  of  usefulness 
open  to  me  ;  but,  my  dear,  dear  girl,  do  not  refuse 
the  heart  and  hand  I  offer  you — a  heart  never  touched 
by  another,  and  a  hand  of  which  no  true  woman  need 
be  ashamed." 

He  reached  out  toward  her,  but  she  only  shrank 
farther  away. 

"  Again  I  tell  you  that  you  are  mad  !"  she  answered. 
"  I  doubt  not  that  your  heart  is  pure,  that  your  life 
has  been  all  you  claim  for  it — but  mine,  what  has 
that  been  ?  I  have  concealed  nothing  from  you.  Let 
me  tell  you  that  men  do  not  marry  women  like  me. 
They  must  not,  they  should  not !  You  have  thought 
me  heartless  ;  and  so  1  am  to  all  but  you.  Arthur 
Reycroft,  I  love  you.  I  will  repeat  it  a  thousand 
times,  if  you  wish,  and  no  number  of  repetitions  can 


344  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

convey  to  you  the  depth  of  my  passion.  Do  you 
think  that  such  a  love  is  a  mere  selfish  thing  ?  Every 
breath  I  draw  is  permeated  with  my  affection  for 
you,  and  I  would  rather  fall  dead  at  your  feet  than 
become  your  wife  and  see  you  gradually  growing  to 
dislike,  and  at  last  to  hate  me." 

"I  should  never  dislike  you,"  he  replied,  earnestly. 
"  My  love  is  deep  enough  to  last  an  eternity.  But 
what  would  you  have — an  unholy  alliance  which  would 
torment  me  hourly  with  the  stings  of  conscience  ?" 

She  shuddered  a  little  and  said  : 

"  How  horribly  you  name  things  !  I  told  you  that 
our  love  was  hopeless." 

"  If  I  were  not  a  clergyman,  you  would  marry 
me  ?"  he  said. 

"  No,  I  would  not.  Neither  would  I  have  you  for 
the  world  leave  that  profession." 

"  But  you  would  have  me,"  he  said,  "  if  I  under- 
stand you,  continue  to  preach  one  thing  in  my  pulpit 
and  act  another.  You  would  have  my  life  a  perpetual 
lie.  You  would  have  me  violate  the  most  sacred  in- 
junctions of  my  creed." 

"  It  is  no  more  than  others  do,"  she  pouted. 
"  There's  Bishop " 

"  Don't,  I  beseech  you,"  he  interrupted.  "  I  don't 
wish  to  hear  the  name." 

There  was  a  few  moments  of  silence  and  then  a  new 
resolve  came  to  Gabrielle.  She  went  to  him,  placed 
one  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  stroked  the  hair  back 
from  his  forehead  with  the  ojher.  She  was  astonished 
to  find  how  hot  and  throbbing  were  his  temples. 

"  Mr.  Reycroft,"  she  said,  softly,  "  I  am  to  blame  for 
introducing  this  discussion  and  it  is  for  me  to  end  it. 
Do  you  know  what  the  hour  is  ?" 

"  It  matters  little,"  he  said  gloomily.  "  One  hour  is 
the  same  to  me  as  another  now." 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  345 

She  drew  a  tiny  gold  watch  from  her  bosom  and 
showed  it  to  him. 

"  Half  past  one  o'clock  at  night.  Not  the  hour  that 
the  Rev.  Arthur  Reycroft  should  find  himself  in  the 
house  of  a  cocotte." 

It  did  not  seem  to  startle  him,  as  he  made  no  move 
to  leave. 

"Do  you  understand  ?"  she  repeated.  "It  is  half 
past  one,  and — my — bedtime." 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  which  was  very 
new  to  his  eyes. 

"  Do  you  turn  me  out  ?" 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  But  if  you  stay  I  must  pre- 
pare for  sleep.  Probably  you  won't  mind." 

She  threw  off  the  worsted  shawl,  and  exposed  her 
white  arms  and  neck.  Then  she  began  on  the  buttons 
of  her  dress. 

"  You  would  not  dare  !"  he  muttered  with  a  gasp. 

"  Not  dare  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  sit  up  all 
night  ?  I  always  disrobe  in  this  room." 

She  proceeded  leisurely,  and  he  set  his  teeth. 

"  The  servants  are  all  a-bed,"  she  said,  with  forced 
composure.  "  I  usually  have  Ernestine  to  help  me, 
but  I  can  get  along  very  well  without  her.  If  you 
were  real  polite,  you  would  turn  your  face  away  for  a 
little  while.  This  is  one  of  the  cases  where  it  is  ex- 
cusable." 

He  never  moved. 

She  finished  disrobing,  and  then  put  on  a  loose 
gown  of  crimson  silk,  bordered  with  ancient  lace,  and 
began  to  take  down  her  hair. 

"  Confession  is  good  for  the  soul,"  she  said,  with  a 
poor  assumption  of  gaiety,  shaking  out  the  braids, 
which  fell  almost  to  her  feet.  "  I  told  you  a  little 
while  ago  that  I  loved  you.  Well— I  don't." 

Even  that  did  not  move  him.     If  he  heard,  he  gave 


346  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

no  sign,  but  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  as  if 
charmed. 

"  No,"  she  proceeded,  after  a  slight  pause,  with  her 
voice  trembling  violently.  "  I  do  not  love  you.  I  only 
said  so  to  see  what  you  would  do.  I  made  it  all  up — 
tears  and  everything." 

She  laughed  a  little,  not  very  naturally,  and  the 
tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  again  before  she  had  fin- 
ished. 

"  You  see,"  she  continued,  turning  toward  him, 
"how  easily  I  can  cry.  Didn't  I  fool  you  well  ?" 

It  was  sadly  ludicrous  to  see  the  smiles  and  tears 
struggling  for  mastery  on  her  cheek. 

"  Mr.  Reycroft,"  she  added,  presently,  "  I  hate  to 
ask  a  gentlemen  to  go,  but " 

She  hesitated,  a  little  startled  at  his  appearance. 
She  found  courage  to  touch  his  shoulder,  and  the 
slight  motion  of  his  body  showed  her  that  he  was  un- 
conscious. 

Gabrielle  was  not  easily  frightened,  but  she  was  a 
good  deal  disturbed  at  this  turn  of  affairs.  She  rang 
for  Williams  and  Ernestine  and,  snatching  a  bottle  of 
camphor  from  the  mantel,  applied  it  to  the  nostrils 
of  the  sick  man.  Williams  came  in  a  few  minutes 
and,  after  helping  to  get  Mr.  Reycroft's  inanimate 
form  upon  the  nearest  bed,  went  in  haste  for  a  physi- 
cian. The  French  maid  took  a  pair  of  scissors  and 
cut  away  the  collar  and  the  upper  part  of  the  shirt  in 
order  to  allow  the  fullest  opportunity  for  breathing, 
but  all  they  could  do  had  apparently  been  of  no  effect 
when  the  doctor  arrived. 

Luckily  Williams  had  met  Dr.  Eldredge,  one  of  the 
best  physicians  in  the  city,  returning  from  a  visit  to 
another  patient.  The  doctor  made  a  hasty  examina- 
tion, wrote  a  prescription  and  dispatched  Williams 
with  it.  Then  he  motioned  to  Gabrielle  to  have 
Ernestine  leave  the  room. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  347 

"  Tell  me  as  quickly  as  possible  all  that  you  know 
about  this,"  he  said,  when  the  door  closed  behind 
the  French  woman.  "  I  recognize  Mr.  Reycroft,  and 
I  know  him  to  be  a  man  of  apparent  soundness  of 
health.  It  must  have  taken  a  great  mental  shock  to 
prostrate  him  like  this.  Speak  freely,  and  remember 
that  as  a  physician  I  shall  disclose  no  secret  which 
I  may  learn  professionally.'' 

Gabrielle  colored  to  the  roots  of  her  flaxen  hair. 

"  He  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  I  refused." 

"He — asked  you — to  marry  him  !" 

"  Yes.     Wasn't  it  ridiculous  ?" 

The  tears  were  flowing  freely  again. 

"  Preposterous  !"  agreed  Doctor  Eldredge.  "  He  is 
the  wealthy  son  of  a  proud  family,  a  rising  light  in 
the  Christian  ministry  ;  and  you " 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  what  I  am,"  said  Gabrielle,  very 
quietly.  "  And  yet,  he  is  here,  in  my  house,  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  Not  for  marriage,  I  should  say,"  said  the  blunt 
physician. 

"  You  asked  me  and  I  told  you,"  said  the  girl.  "  It 
is  the  truth.  For  his  sake,  when  he  recovers,  I  beg 
you  to  keep  my  admission  sacred." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  not  recover,"  ventured  the  doctor. 

"  Surely  you  jest  !"  cried  the  girl,  now  thoroughly 
alarmed.  "  A  man  in  health  could  not  die  because  of 
a  mere  disappointment." 

"A  man  in  health  would  not  ordinarily  get  into 
this  condition,  but  when  the  shock  is  great  enough  to 
put  him  there,  the  most  serious  consequences  are  to 
be  apprehended,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely.  Williams 
came  at  this  juncture  with  the  medicines,  and  the  phy- 
sician busied  himself  with  his  patient  for  the  next 
half  hour  without  continuing  the  conversation. 

Perceiving  at  last  signs  of  returning  consciousness, 
he  whispered  to  Gabrielle  that  it  would  be  wise  for 


348  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

her  to  leave  the  room  for  a  few  moments.  She  had 
been  weeping  quietly  by  herself,  and  complied  with- 
out hesitation. 

When  Mr.  Reycroft  opened  his  eyes  he  looked  at 
the  doctor  ;  then  his  glance  passed  about  the  room, 
as  if  he  missed  something. 

"  Where  is  Gabrielle  ?" 

"  She  is  in  the  house.     Do  you  wish  to  see  her  ?" 

"  She  will  not  marry  me,"  he  said,  looking  a  little 
vacantly  at  the  physician. 

"  We  will  see  about  that,"  responded  Dr.  Eldredge, 
cheerily.  "  I  will  go  and  call  her." 

He  met  Gabrielle  in  the  hall. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  save  that  man's  life?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  would  give  my  own  to  do  it,"  she  replied,  wiping 
her  eyes.  Her  lips  were  trembling. 

"  Come  in  where  he  is.  If  he  asks  you  to  marry 
him,  promise  that  you  will  do  so.  Never  mind 
whether  you  intend  to  keep  your  word  or  not.  Sick 
people  must  be  humored.  If  you  fail,  he  may  be 
dead  to-morrow,  or  he  may  be  in  a  lunatic  asylum." 

She  followed  him  to  Mr.  Reycroft's  bedside.  His 
eyes  lit  up  as  he  saw  her.  She  stooped  down  and 
kissed  his  lips. 

"  You  will  not  marry  me  !"  he  repeated,  faintly. 
"  Did  you  not  say  so?" 

She  looked  up  at  the  doctor.  He  regarded  her  with 
a  stern  expression  and  nodded  his  head  abruptly. 

"  I  did  not  mean  it,"  she  said  with  great  effort. 

The  clergyman's  eyes  kindled  with  seraphic  joy. 

"  My  own— my  darling  !"  he  murmured,  taking  her 
hand  and  putting  it  to  his  lips. 

Five  minutes  later,  he  was  in  a  sound  slumber. 

"  He  is  saved  !"  said  Dr.  Eldredge,  triumphantly. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  349 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ONE  lovely  Sunday  morning,  not  long  after  the  visit 
of  Rev.  Arthur  Reycroft  to  Miss  Gabrielle  Delaporte, 
described  in  the  preceding  chapter,  the  congregation 
over  which  he  presided  gathered  as  usual  at  their 
house  of  worship  in  a  small  town  near  the  metropolis. 
It  was  rather  a  fashionable  congregation  and  took 
great  pride  in  its  pastor,  who  was  considered  one  of 
the  ablest  speakers  of  his  age  in  his  denomination,  and 
had  refused  several  "calls"  to  other  and  larger 
churches  because  of  the  deep  interest  which  had 
grown  up  between  himself  and  his  people.  He  had 
been  absent  for  several  Sundays,  his  place  being  filled 
by  special  arrangement.  To-day  he  was  expected  to 
return,  and  the  house  was  crowded  in  every  part  by 
an  expectant  audience. 

It  was  a  few  minutes  beyond  the  usual  time  when 
the  minister  arrived.  As  he  went  into  the  pulpit 
everybody  noticed  that  he  looked  quite  pale  and  care- 
worn. He  gave  out  the  opening  hymn  in  a  low  voice, 
and  after  it  was  sung  rose  and  stood  at  his  desk.  It 
was  the  time  for  the  invocation.  The  more  devout 
among  the  congregation  had  already  bowed  their 
heads,  when  the  pastor's  voice  broke  the  stillness. 

•"  My  friends,  I  came  here  to-day  full)'  intending  to 
officiate  as  usual,  but  I  find  myself  unable  to  do  so.  I 
cannot  address  the  Throne  of  Grace  in  a  public  man- 
ner and  give  you  words  of  counsel  and  instruction 
when  conscience  smites  me  for  sins  of  my  own.  For 
the  kindness  you  have  shown  in  a  hundred  ways  you 
have  my  sincerest  thanks,  but  I  feel  no  longer  worthy 


3 SO  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

to  occupy  this  pulpit.  Unless  there  is  some  other 
clergyman  in  the  audience,  or  some  layman  who  feels 
competent  to  continue  the  service,  I  must  dismiss 
you." 

To  say  that  these  words  created  a  sensation  faintly 
expresses  that  effect.  Men  looked  at  each  other  as 
though  they  could  hardly  credit  their  hearing.  It  was 
a  crushing  blow,  all  the  harder  because  totally  unan- 
ticipated. As  the  young  clergyman  descended  the 
pulpit  stairs,  with  faltering  steps  and  pallid  counte- 
nance, an  aged  deacon  rose  and  said,  "  Let  us  unite  in 
prayer."  The  fervent  petition  of  the  old  man,  beg- 
ging forgiveness  for  his  pastor,  whatever  his  unknown 
sin  might  be,  and  asking  that  grace  be  given  him  to 
withstand  future  temptation,  was  a  great  relief  to  all 
present.  Mr.  Reycroft  took  a  seat  in  one  of  the  side 
aisles,  and  waited  for  the  audience  to  pass  out  before 
him. 

At  this  Juncture  a  gentleman,  who  was  a  stranger 
to  most  of  those  present,  and  who  had  come  to  town 
that  morning  on  horseback,  walked  with  a  quick  step 
up  the  broad  aisle  and  entered  the  pulpit.  Mr.  Rey- 
croft half  started  to  his  feet  as  he  recognized  the 
stranger,  but  something  in  the  latter's  manner  in- 
duced the  minister  to  sit  down  again.  The  gentleman 
opened  the  large  Bible,  and  saying,  "  We  will  read  a 
portion  of  the  eighth  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  St. 
John,"  proceeded,  amidst  oppressive  silence,  to  recite 
the  simple  story  of  the  sinful  woman  whom  the 
Scribes  and  Pharisees  brought  to  Jesus,  demanding 
of  him  whether  she  ought  to  be  stoned  to  death 
according  to  the  Law  of  Moses.  He  read  with 
clearness,  and  his  manner  was  impressive.  When  he 
came  to  the  words,  "  He  that  is  without  sin  among 
you,  let  him  first  cast  a  stone  at  her,"  his  eye  roamed 
over  the  large  congregation,  and  several  present  felt 
as  though  his  glance  rested  especially  upon  them, 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  351 

Some  of  the  nearest  noticed  that  he  had  a  scar  across 
the  length  of  his  forehead,  and  that  other  marks  were 
visible  upon  his  face,  caused  apparently  by  not  recent 
bruises.  He  closed  the  reading  at  the  end  of  the 
words,  "  And  Jesus  said  unto  her,  Neither  do  I  con- 
demn thee  ;  go  and  sin  no  more,"  and  turning  back- 
ward the  leaves  of  the  Holy  Volume,  he  proceeded  : 
"  I  will  now  speak  to  you  briefly  on  the  words  found 
in  Exodus,  twentieth  chapter,  fourteenth  verse  : 

"  *  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery  '  " 

There  was  a  sudden  stir  in  the  church.  Several 
elderly  ladies  rose  and  walked  out.  A  woman  with 
three  young  daughters  tried  to  persuade  her  husband 
that  he  ought  to  take  his  family  and  do  likewise,  but 
he  did  not  seem  convinced.  The  deacons  exchanged 
looks  of  bewilderment.  The  occupant  of  the  pulpit 
waited  a  few  seconds,  partly  to  secure  order  and 
partly  to  allow  his  text  to  impress  itself  upon  his 
hearers.  Then  he  continued  : 

"  Thousands  of  years  ago  the  Almighty  Father  of 
heaven  and  earth  wrote  with  His  omnipotent  finger 
ten  special  commands  for  the  government  of  His  chil- 
dren. He  forbade  them  to  have  other  gods,  to  make 
images  to  adore,  to  take  His  Holy  Name  in  vain,  to 
commit  murder,  adultery  or  theft,  to  bear  false  wit- 
ness or  to  covet  what  belongs  to  .others  ;  and  he  en- 
joined them  to  rest  on  the  seventh  day  and  to  honor 
their  parents. 

"  These  commands  were  given  amid  thunderings 
and  lightnings  so  terrible  that  the  people  feared  lest 
their  end  was  come.  They  are  plain,  explicit,  direct. 
There  is  no  room  for  argument,  no  opportunity  for 
equivocation. 

"  I  believe  that  the  most  vital  of  these  injunctions 
is  the  one  usually  called  the  Seventh  Command, 


352  THOU    SHALT   NOT. 

which  T  have  read  to  you.  So  far  as  human  sight 
can  reach,  the  violation  of  no  other  carries  with  it 
such  a  weight  of  sin  and  suffering." 

The  husband  of  the  woman  with  the  three  daugh- 
ters yielded  to  his  wife's  persuasions  and  they  quietly 
left  the  church.  A  number  of  others  took  occasion 
to  follow  their  example.  The  speaker  paused  until 
quiet  was  restored,  when  he  proceeded  : 

"  If  a  man  or  woman  should  worship  all  of  the  gods 
in  the  heathen  mythology  ;  if  they  should  ask  Ceres 
to  bless  their  fields,  Neptune  to  give  favorable  winds 
to  their  ships,  or  Bacchus  to  furnish  increase  to  their 
vineyards,  no  human  eye  would  be  filled  with  tears, 
no  brother  or  sister  would  be  condemned  to  misery. 
If  they  should  bow  down  to  images  of  wood  or  stone, 
the  worship  of  those  senseless  things  would  injure  the 
idolaters  alone.  Taking  the  name  of  God  in  vain  is  a 
wicked  and  foolish  act,  but  its  consequences  are 
between  him  who  does  it  and  his  Maker.  A  wise  and 
beneficent  law  enjoins  us  to  rest  on  the  seventh  day, 
but  a  man  may  work  each  Sabbath  and  yet  do  his 
neighbor  no  injury.  Honoring  our  parents  is  a  high 
privilege  and  duty,  but  only  the  old  people  who  gave 
us  birth  will  suffer  if  we  forget  to  do  it.  Murder  is  a 
most  terrible  crime,  but  Christ  has  bidden  us  not  to 
fear  them  that  kill  the  body  so  much  as  them  that 
can  also  destroy  the  soul.  If  my  neighbor  steals 
what  is  mine,  or  covets  my  goods,  or  bears  false  wit- 
ness against  me,  the  injury  is  not  irreparable.  But 
the  results  of  that  awful  crime — adultery — who  can  fol- 
low to  their  end  ?" 

Fifty  or  sixty  persons  more,  whose  curiosity  was  evi- 
dently satisfied,  took  the  opportunity  of  the  slight 
pause  at  the  end  of  this  sentence  to  go  out.  The 
speaker  did  not  seem  in  the  least  disturbed,  but  pro- 
ceeded with  increasing  vehemence  : 

''In  the  neighboring  city  of  New  York  there  are 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  353 

twenty-five  thousand  unhappy  women  this  day  living 
on  the  wages  of  sin,  a  standing  disgrace  to  the  men  of 
that  city,  without  whose  concurrence  they  could  not 
continue  in  their  wicked  lives  for  an  hour.  Children 
are  born  of  these  unions,  to  die  of  neglect  or  grow  up 
worse  than  orphans.  Truly  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
are  upon  these  little  ones  to  the  third  and  fourth 
generation.  And  not  in  the  lower  ranks  alone  is  this 
most  detestable  vice  found.  Among  the  men  highest 
in  repute,  and  among  the  women  who  lead  society,  it 
stalks  like  a  spectre,  breaking  hearts,  disrupting 
families,  tearing  down  every  barrier  which  religion 
and  morality  strive  to  erect  around  the  hearthstone." 

Nearly  every  lady  left  the  church  during  these  re- 
marks, but  the  speaker  did  not  pause  again. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  of  a  man  I  knew  who  came  to 
New  York  in  his  youth  and  lived  the  life  of  a  prof- 
ligate for  years.  His  curse  fell  upon  more  than  one 
young  head,  and  the  extent  of  the  evil  wrought  by 
his  violations  of  the  Seventh  Command  only  God  may 
know.  He  became  the  father  of  a  daughter,  whom 
he  abandoned  with  her  mother  when  a  new  fancy 
met  his  eye.  In  the  mysterious  ways  of  Providence 
this  daughter,  grown  to  young  womanhood,  became 
the  means  of  saving  her  father's  life  and  converting 
him  from  the  errors  he  had  followed  so  long.  She 
grew  to  be  as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  But  in  revenge 
for  injuries  inflicted  upon  his  sister,  another  man 
abducted  this  girl,  and  when  in  danger  of  what  was 
to  her  a  worse,  fate  than  death,  she  made  her  own 
end  with  a  stiletto.  From  only  one  of  the  many  sins 
of  that  miserable  father,  a  beautiful  woman  and  her 
daughter  lie  in  early  graves,  a  man  who  had  the 
strength  of  a  Hercules  goes  on  crutches  and  with 
voiceless  tongue,  and  another  wanders  an  outcast  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  Where  will  these  dreadful 
results  find  an  end?  As  well  might  the  man  who 


354  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

flings  a  stone  into  the  ocean  endeavor  to  measure  the 
circles  which  spread  out  over  the  deep." 

The  men  did  not  go.  They  listened  to  him  with 
eager  faces. 

"  You  are  all  careful  of  your  daughters,  but  what 
good  will  that  do  you  if  you  neglect  to  warn  your 
sons  ?  Not  one  of  your  homes  is  safe.  Girls,  as  well 
taught  as  yours,  are  walking  the  street  of  yonder  city 
to-night.  Until  the  standard  of  masculine  morality 
is  raised  you  may  hope  in  vain  for  the  purity  of  your 
families.  If  your  daughter  is  accused  by  popular 
report  of  unchastity,  you  are  horrified,  and  well  you 
may  be.  If  your  son  is  so  accused,  you  smile  and  say, 
'  The  young  man  must  sow  his  wild  oats.'  His  wild 
oats — yes — and  somebody  else's  daughter  will  reap 
the  damning  harvest — somebody's  girl,  who  but  yes- 
terday said  her  prayers  at  her  mother's  knee  and  lay 
down  to  dreams  as  pure  as  those  of  the  angels." 

The  speaker's  voice  rose  louder  and  louder  as  he 
proceeded  : 

"  I  charge  ye,  men,  protect  your  sons.  If  I  had  a 
boy  who  was  profane,  I  would  talk  to  him  ;  if  he  got 
intoxicated,  I  would  try  to  cure  him  ;  if  he  committed 
murder,  I  would  strive  to  save  him  from  the  gallows, 
for  he  would  be  still  my  son.  But  if  he  became  a 
seducer  of  women,  I  would — no,  I  would  not  kill  him, 
though  I  think  a  wolf  deserves  death  no  more  than 
he— but  I  would  pray  God  to  end  his  life. 

"  This  is  not  a  popular  subject.  I  have  said  no 
word  unfit  for  the  pulpit  of  a  Christian  church,  no 
word  that  any  Christian  minister  ought  not  to  say,  but 
half  of  the  people  who  sat  in  these  seats  when  I  began 
have  left  them.  I  am  sorry  for  the  delicacy  of  ears 
which  find  themselves  offended  by  an  application  of 
one  of  the  most  solemn  adjurations  of  the  Most  High  ; 
but  I  hope  that  the  good  seed  which  I  have  tried  to 
scatter  has  not  all  fallen  on  stony  ground  ;  that  some 


THOU    SHALT  NOT.  355 

grain  may  spring  up  and  bear  fruit  to  the  salvation  of 
souls,  which  might  otherwise  have  perished  because 
unwarned  of  their  danger." 

The  congregation  went  slowly  out.  Greyburn — for 
it  was  he — went  down  the  pulpit  steps  to  where 
Arthur  Reycroft  sat,  and  put  one  arm  around  his  neck 
as  a  woman  might  have  done. 

"  Did  I  do  right  in  speaking  to  them  ?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Reycroft  looked  up  with  a  countenance  like 
one  despairing. 

"What  a  change  !"  he  articulated.  "You  preach- 
ing purity,  and  I " 

"  How  bad  is  it  ?"  said  Greyburn,  soothingly,  and 
speaking  in  a  low  tone.  "  Walk  along  with  me  and 
tell  me  all.  It  will  do  you  good." 

They  strolled  out  together  and  went  down  a  shaded 
road  in  the  rear  of  the  church. 

"  You  remember  the  young  woman  whom  you 
brought  to  show  me  one  night  when  I  first  knew 
you  ?" 

"  Gabrielle  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well?" 

'  She  possesses  me,  body  and  soul." 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  love  that  girl  and  that  this  love  is 
incompatible  with  -the  place  I  have  occupied." 

"  Is  the  attachment  really  so  strong  ?"  said  Grey- 
burn,  incredulously. 

"Judge  for  yourself.  When  she  declined  to  marry 
me — as  she  did  at  first — I  had  an  attack  of  catelepsy, 
and  lay  for  a  week  in  bed  at  her  house,  under  the 
care  of  a  physician.  It  is  contrary  to  his  advice  that 
I  am  out  to-day." 

Greyburn  was  silent  for  several  minutes. 

"  You  must  drop  her,"  he  said,  firmly,  when  he 
spoke  again. 


356  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

The  clergyman  clasped  his  hands  together. 

"  So  easy  to  say — so  hard  to  do,"  he  answered. 

"What  became  of  Mendall  ?"  inquired  Greyburn, 
with  a  desire  to  change  the  subject  until  he  could 
collect  his  thoughts. 

"  Escaped  to  Europe  when  the  Times  disclosures 
were  made.  Are  you  in  any  personal  danger  ?  I 
have  guessed  lately  at  the  meaning  of  the  hints  you 
gave  me  once." 

"  Not  the  slightest.  I  bought  and  sold  land  where 
improvements  were  to  be  made,  but  I  mixed  in  no 
contracts  and  shared  in  no  steals.  However,  I  do  nut 
feel  guiltless  and  shall  do  something  soon  to  ease  my 
mind.  Did  you  hear  anything  about  young  Camp- 
bell ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  clergyman.  "  I  heard  that  he  was 
dissipated  and  penniless.  What  a  terrible  retaliation 
he  made  upon  your  daughter." 

"  I  must  find  and  try  to  save  him,"  said  Greyburn, 
quietly.  "I  am  much  to  blame  for  his  present  condi- 
tion, and  he  is  also,  you  remember,  my  wife's  brother." 

"  Where  is  she,  your  wife  ?"  asked  Mr.  Rey croft. 

"  I  have  no  idea.  That  is  the  woman  you  should 
have  married,  Arthur." 

The  clergyman  shuddered. 

"  Come,"  added  Greyburn,  "  you  have  no  right  to 
be  in  this  frame  of  mind.  Look  at  me.  My  heart  is 
buried  under  the  sods  of  the  Fail-field  cemetery.  For 
long  months  I  have  hoped  and  prayed  for  death.  A 
few  days  ago  I  roused  myself  and  determined  to  as- 
certain whether  there  was  not  something  I  could  do 
in  the  part  of  life  which  is  left  to  me  to  atone  for  the 
years  I  have  wasted.  I  wanted  advice  from  you  and 
came  to  your  church  to-day  to  seek  it,  little  anticipat- 
ing this  denouement.  If  /  can  endure  the  weight 
of  my  past,  thickly  sown  as  it  is  with  briers  and  thorns, 
surely yeu  can  rise  after  one  slip." 


THOU   SHALT   NOT.  357 

Mr.  Reycroft  blushed  and  stammered.  "There has 
been  nothing  criminal  ;  but  had  she  persisted  in  her 
refusal  to  marry  me,  I  know  not  what  might  have 
happened,  as  I  was  madly  infatuated  that  night.  Dr. 
Eldredge  admits  that  he  was  seriously  alarmed  about 
me." 

"  But  you  are  calmer  now,"  said  Greyburn,  "  and 
more  sensible.  You  have  been  following  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  Gabrielle  has  had  a  dozen  lovers  and  will  have 
a  dozen  more.  Marriage  with  you  would  please  her 
for  a  few  weeks.  After  that  she  would  go  back  to 
her  old  ways,  leaving  you  to  the  reflection  that  you 
ought  to  have  expected  as  much.  I  know  her.  She 
is  pretty,  brilliant,  fascinating.  A  dangerous  play- 
thing for  a  man  of  the  world,  and  a  fatal  one  to  a 
good-hearted,  innocent  fellow  like  you." 

u  I  have  hopes  to  reform  her,"  ventured  Mr.  Rey- 
croft. "  She  has  a  noble  nature  underneath  the 
frivolities  which  her  experiences  have  brought  to  the 
surface." 

"  You  are  incredulous,  but  she  is  becoming  a  true 
Christian,  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"  You  will  marry  her,  then  ?" 

"  She  has  hardly  consented  yet.  She  is  so  fearful 
of  dragging  me  down,  as  she  calls  it." 

"She  «//'// drag  you  down,"  said  Greyburn,  bluntly. 

"  How  ?" 

"  Socially,  for  one  thing.  Your  class  of  society 
won't  receive  her.  Morally,  for  another.  Mark  me, 
Arthur,  when  the  first  flush  of  what  you  call  her  '  love ' 
is  over,  her  real  nature  will  re-appear  and  you  will  be 
the  sufferer.  Put  a  spoonful  of  ink  into  a  pail  of 
milk,  and  if  the  whole  mass  isn't  darkened,  never  be- 
lieve me." 

"  I  shall  marry  her  if  she  will  have  me,"  reiterated 
the  clergyman,  doggedly. 

"  See  here  !"  cried  Greyburn,  stopping  in  the  street, 


358  THOU   SHALT   NOT. 

"  I  am  going  to  talk  plainly  to  you.  I've  got  to  talk 
plainly.  You  cant  marry  that  kind  of  a  girl.  How 
could  you  endure  to  walk  or  ride  with  her  or  take  her 
to  a  public  place  where  men  you  might  meet  could 
say,  '  That's  a  former  mistress  of  mine.'  You  would 
never  want  to  meet  me,  nor  Walter  Campbell,  nor 
Jacob  Mendall,  and  God  knows  how  many  more,  that 
you  will  never  know  about,  and  that  she  herself  has 
forgotten.  Think  !  It  is  of  a  wife  that  we  are  speak- 
ing— a  wife,  whose  name,  if  not  above  reproach,  is 
beyond  all  things  the  most  hideous  !" 

Reycroft  was  very  white.  He  leaned  against  a 
building  for  support. 

"  It  is  terrible,"  he  said. 

An  hour  later  Greyburn  rode  toward  the  city,  and 
that  evening  presented  himself  at  the  door  of  the 
residence  of  his  former  sweetheart.  He  was  ushered 
into  the  parlor,  and  waited  a  quarter  of  an  hour  be- 
fore she  entered.  When  she  came  in  he  saw  that  she 
had  been  weeping  violently  ;  and  this  man,  who  had 
never  seen  aught  but  the  sunniest  smiles  on  her  face, 
was  shocked  at  her  appearance. 

She  touched  the  hand  which  he  extended  and  mo- 
tioned him  to  be  seated. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  of  Arthur  Reycroft,"  he  said, 
thinking  it  wisest  to  reach  the  point  at  once. 

"You  see  my  condition,"  replied  the  girl.  "This 
morning  there  were  two  persons  in  the  world  whom 
I  loved  with  my  whole  soul.  One  of  them  has  just 
left  it — my — mother." 

She  sobbed  aloud  as  she  pronounced  the  words, 
and  Greyburn  rose,  instinctively  feeling  that  her  grief 
was  too  sacred  for  his  errand. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  indeed,"  he  said.  "  If  I  had 
known,  be  sure  I  would  not  have  intruded," 


THOU    SHALT   NOT.  359 

She  choked  down  her  sobs  and  looked  him  full  in 
the  face. 

"  I  had  two  friends,"  she  said,  hysterically.  "  One 
of  them,  the  best,  the  dearest,  has  gone.  I  have  only 
Arthur  left,  and  you  shall  not  take  him  from  me.  No, 
you  shall  UQ\.  !" 

He  did  not  know  what  to  answer  her. 

"His  place  is  here,"  she  continued.  "He  has 
vowed  to  love  me  as  long  as  he  lives.  I  need  him 
now.  Tell  him  that  I  have  no  other  friend  in  the 
wide  world  and  am  alone  with  my  dead  mother.  I 
will  not  hurt  him.  I  will  kneel  at  his  side  and  pray 
if  he  asks  me.  Hector,  will  you  tell  him  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  he  answered,  gravely,  and  left 
the  house,  very  much  troubled. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THAT  evening  Greyburn  packed  up  his  movables, 
ordered  a  carriage,  and  drove  to  an  obscure  hotel  in  a 
remote  corner  of  the  city,  where  he  took  a  room,  stat- 
ing to  the  clerk  that  he  desired  to  see  no  callers.  All 
the  afternoon  he  sat  silent  in  his  chamber,  but  after 
dark  he  commenced  writing.  He  made  several  copies, 
tore  them  up  and  made  others,  until  at  last  he  pro- 
duced the  following  : 

Last  Will  and  Testament  of  Hector  Greyburn. 

This  is  my  last  and  only  will  and  testament.  I  be- 
queath all  my  property  to  John  Bird,  Esq.,  attorney, 
Astor  House  Buildings,  unreservedly,  to  be  applied 
by  him  to  the  purposes  explained  in  a  letter  of  even 


360  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

date  herewith.  And  I  direct  that  no  bonds  be  re- 
quired of  him  on  account  of  the  said  trust  by  the  Pro- 
bate Court. 


John  Bird,  Esq.:  When  I  am  dead  you  will  take  all 
my  property,  convert  it  into  money  and  after  deduct- 
ing the  amount  of  your  own  charges,  send  the  balance 
under  seal  to  the  Treasurer  of  the  City  of  New  York, 
endorsed  "  For  the  conscience  fund."  Send  the  pack- 
age secretly,  but  take  pains  to  see  that  the  amount  is 
properly  covered  into  the  treasury  of  the  city. 

If  my  body  comes  to  you,  have  it  buried  in  some 
swamp  where  no  human  being  can  ever  be  contamin- 
ated by  it.  Sink  it  in  the  mud  with  stones  and  make 
no  mark  to  show  what  is  there.  I  am  particular  about 
this. 

You  are  a  lawyer  and  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  obey 
these  requests  without  question. 

HECTOR  GREYBURN. 

This  was  endorsed  :  "  To  be  opened  only  after  my 
death." 

He  slept  soundly  all  night,  ate  a  good  breakfast  in 
the  morning,  and  at  ten  o'clock  presented  himself  at 
the  office  of  Bird  &  Bird.  The  wil.  was  executed, 
and,  with  the  accompanying  letter,  was  placed  in  Mr. 
John's  capacious  safe. 

Greyburn  walked  down  toward  the  North  River, 
gazing  at  the  various  signs  on  the  pier-houses  as  he 
passed  along.  He  was  so  preoccupied  that  he  almost 
fell  over  a  man  whom  he  encountered  at  one  of  the 
corners.  On  recovering  himself  he  saw  that  it  was 
Walter  Campbell,  very  dirty  and  rather  drunk. 

"  Hullo,  Hector  !"  said  Walter,  who  was  the  first  to 
recover  from  his  surprise.  "  D — d  glad  to  see  you, 
'pon  m'  honor.  Couldn't  lend  me  a  V,  could  you,  for 
a  day  or  two  ?" 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  361 

Greyburn's  face  was  a  study.  How  many  things 
crowded  upon  his  mind  at  that  instant. 

l<  Come  with  me,"  he  said. 

They  walked  down  one  of  the  wharves,  where  a  ves- 
sel was  waiting  which  would  sail  that  afternoon  for  a 
Southern  port.  Greyburn  bought  two  tickets,  and 
taking  Walter  aboard,  went  directly  to  his  state-room 
and  put  him  to  bed,  where  he  fell  almost  instantly 
into  slumber.  Then  he  went  ashore  again,  but 
returned  in  a  short  time  with  his  baggage.  As  he  was 
going  on  board  for  the  last  time,  a  seedy-looking  man 
touched  his  arm  and  beckoned  him  mysteriously 
aside. 

"  Are  you  going  on  that  steamer,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  why  ?" 

"  You  did  me  a  favor  once,"  said  the  man.  <l  You 
see  I  know  you,  Mr.  Greyburn.  You've  forgotten  it, 
and  it's  no  matter  what  it  was,  but  I  owe  you  good 
will.  Now,  that  vessel  isn't  safe  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  and  I  know  it.  She  just  missed  being  con- 
demned the  last  time  she  was  inspected.  She's  in- 
sured way  up,  and  her  owners  wouldn't  care  if  she 
went  down  to-morrow.  You'd  better  go  by  rail." 

"  You  think  the  boat  is  very  unsafe  ?"  said  Grey- 
burn,  absently. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I'm  sure  of  it." 

Greyburn  walked  up  the  plank  and  went  aboard. 

The  vessel  steamed  out  into  the  bay  and  took  her 
course  along  the  coast.  She  seemed  safe  enough  and 
the  passengers  who  gathered  in  the  cabin  after  dinner 
evidently  had  no  doubt  that  they  were  in  a  secure 
situation.  Little  card  parties  gathered  around  some 
of  the  tables.  Several  groups  listened  to  amusing- 
stories  from  fellow-travelers.  A  few  persons  wrote 
letter  home,  while  others  passed  their  time  in  reading. 
It  was  daik  and  cold  on  deck,  but  Greyburn  went 


362  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

there  and  walked  up  and  down  in  his  thick  wrap- 
pings. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  thrill  of  excitement  in  the 
cabin.  A  young  passenger,  with  dishevelled  hair  and 
blood-shot  eyes,  reeled  into  the  room  and  looked 
vacantly  about  him.  As  the  steamer  lurched  a  little 
to  one  side,  he  caught  at  the  nearest  tablecloth  and 
pulled  off  with  it,  a  set  of  dishes  and  glassware, 
making  a  loud  crash.  He  balanced  himself  for  a 
moment,  gave  another  maudlin  look  around,  made  a 
quick  plunge  toward  the  chair  in  which  sat  the  pret- 
tiest girl  on  board  and,  before  either  she  or  any  one 
else  dreamed  what  he  was  intending,  had  his  arms 
around  her  neck.  She  screamed  with  absolute  fright, 
and  several  of  the  stewards  sprang  to  her  assistance. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  irresponsible  for  his 
acts.  They  tried  to  secure  him  without  injury,  but 
he  proved  a  hard  subject  to  handle. 

"  Why,  Gab'relle,"  he  stammered,  wrenching  him- 
self free  from  those  who  held  him.  "What's  the 
matter,  girl  ?  Ain't  you  got  a  kiss  for  me,  to-night  ?" 

As  often  as  they  grasped  his  arms,  he  threw  them 
away.  The  consternation  in  the  cabin  became  fright- 
ful. Part  of  the  women  clustered  in  a  group  in  one 
corner,  while  the  others  clung  to  their  male  escorts, 
begging  them  not  to  go  near  him  for  fear  they  would 
get  hurt. 

"  Hullo  !"  said  the  young  man,  fixing  his  vacant 
gaze  on  another  fair  passenger.  "  Is  that  you, 
Susanne  ?  And  Nettie,  too,  b'George !  Old  girl, 
come  to  m'arms ;  I've  got  the  whole  house,  now, 
y'know." 

Somebody  brought  the  purser  at  last,  whose  pres- 
ence restored,  in  a  slight  degree,  the  confidence  of 
the  ladies. 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  cried  several  voices  at  once. 

"  His  name  is  Campbell.     He's  got  a  friend  who's 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  363 

up  on  the  deck  somewhere.  Won't  someboby  go  for 
him  ?" 

Walter  was  doing  no  greater  harm  than  staring  at 
everybody  in  a  maudlin  way  and  talking  nothing 
with  rapidity  when  Grey  burn  arrived. 

"  Take  him  to  his  room,"  was  his  immediate  de- 
cision. 

But  it  was  much  easier  to  say  this  than  to  accom- 
plish it.  Walter  had  become  possessed  of  the  extra 
ordinary  physical  powers  which  so  frequently 
accompany  great  mental  activity,  and  pushed  the 
men  away  easily.  His  eye  lightened  for  a  moment 
when  he  saw  Greyburn's  face. 

"  Hec,"  he  said,  with  thicker  utterance  than  before, 
"  you've  got  y'money  on  th'girl  and  y'want  to  win 
it.  Young,  d'y'  say  ?  And  beaut'ful,  and  'n  orphan  ? 
If  you  can't  do  that,  never  brag  t'me  ag'iii." 

Then  he  fell  in  a  heap  on  the  floor. 

A  medical  gentleman,  who  had  gone  to  bed,  was 
roused  by  the  purser  and  went  to  look  at  the  body — 
for  it  was  only  a  body — and  said  he  could  give  no 
hope. 

Greyburn  did  not  say  much  when  the  stewards 
took  the  form  and  laid  it  out  ready  for  burial.  He 
did  not  care  much.  If  he  had  any  definite  thought 
about  it,  it  was  that  Walter  had  escaped  from  a  life 
of  suffering,  while  he  had  his  own  still  to  endure. 

He  went  back  to  the  deck  and  walked  up  and  down 
again.  Some  of  the  passengers  commented  on  his 
coldness  of  manner  and  lack  of  feeling  on  account  of 
the  death  of  his  friend,  as  they  talked  over  the  sad 
event  of  the  evening.  He  did  not  hear  them,  and 
would  have  paid  no  attention  if  he  had. 

A  gale  sprang  up  about  midnight.  The  captain, 
who  had  turned  in,  was  sent  f9r  to  take  his  place  on 
the  bridge.  He  soon  saw  that  he  had  a  furious  storm 
to  encounter,  and  a  very  anxious  look  came  over  his 


364  THOU   SHALT  NOT. 

weather-beaten  features.  A  description  of  the  scenes 
between  that  hour  and  sunrise  was  published  in  the 
New  York  papers  two  days  after,  and  need  not  be  re- 
peated here  at  length.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the 
wintry  storm  was  too  much  for  the  old  vessel.  At 
three  o'clock  the  passengers  were  ordered  to  dress 
and  to  be  in  readiness  to  take  the  small  boats  if  it 
should  prove  necessary.  Before  this  hour  most  of 
them  had  become  aware  that  they  were  in  a  certain 
danger,  but  this  authentic  announcement  filled  all 
hearts  with  dismay.  At  least,  all  hearts  but  one. 

About  five  o'clock,  when  only  the  faintest  glimmer 
of  dawn  was  visible,  it  became  evident  that  the 
steamer  was  sinking.  The  fury  of  the  gale  had  some- 
what abated  and  it  was  believed  that  the  small  boats 
might  live  in  the  sea  long  enough  to  reach  land, 
which  was  supposed  to  be  some  miles  away.  The 
boats  were  lowered  and  manned.  Cries  and  tears 
were  heard  on  all  sides  and  were  not  confined  to 
the  female  passengers.  It  was  a  time  when  the 
stoutest  heart  might  well  quake.  The  sea  rose  and 
fell  in  huge  waves  and  the  cold  was  biting.  Ice 
covered  the  masts  and  sheets  and  made  the  deck 
slippery. 

The  boats  were  lowered  in  very  good  order,  but  one 
of  them,  old  like  the  ship  itself,  was  dashed  to  pieces 
against  the  vessel's  side,  leaving  the  capacity  of  the 
others  to  be  so  severely  tested.  The  sailors  helped 
the  ladies  down  the  ladders.  One,  apparently  about 
sixty  years  of  age,  seemed  traveling  alone.  She 
shrank  back  when  the  man  tried  to  help  her  in,  cry- 
ing out  that  the  boats  were  not  safe.  Greyburn 
caught  her  slight  form  in  his  strong  arms  and  carried 
her  like  a  child  to  a  seat  with  the  others.  She  shiv- 
ered and  said,  it  was  freezing  cold.  He  took  off  his 
heavy,  fur-trimmed  over  coat  and  wrapped  it  about 
her.  She  tried  to  remonstrate  but  he  was  gone. 


THOU   SHALT  NOT.  365 

The  boats  were  crowded.  Only  one  man  remained 
on  the  deck.  He  had  assisted  several  to  reach  the 
boats,  but  always  went  back  himself.  All  the  boats 
had  pushed  off  but  one,  and  every  moment  which  that 
one  remained  lashed  to  the  vessel  was  fraught  with 
danger.  The  captain  called  to  the  solitary  passenger 
to  hasten,  but  instead  of  doing  so,  he  reached  down 
and  cut  the  painter. 

"  Push  off!"  he  cried,  above  the  noise  of  the  wind 
and  sea,  "lam  not  going." 

A  wave  carried  the  frail  craft  a  dozen  yards  the 
next  instant,  and  the  stout-hearted  captain  turned 
pale  as  he  realized  what  had  happened.  But  it  was 
impossible  to  return  for  one  man  without  imperilling 
all  the  others. 

Greyburn's  great  coat  was  gone,  but  he  felt  no  chill. 
He  clung  to  a  mast  and  unconsciously  spoke  his 
thoughts  aloud  : 

"Lena  took  her  life  rather  than  endure  prof anation.  2 
take  mine  to  save  others  from  it.  God  must  be  merciful" 

Then  a  great  wave  broke  over  the  decks,  and  when 
it  subsided  the  vessel  had  disappeared. 


THE    END. 


His  PRIVATE  CHARACTER 

IROSS. 


A   Novel    Uniform    with   "Thou    Shalt    Not.'9 


OPINIONS   OF  THE  PRESS. 

"There  is  a  great  difference  between  the  productions  of  Albert 
Ross  and  those  of  some  of  the  sensational  writers  of  recent  date.  When 
he  depicts  vice  he  does  it  with  an  artistic  touch,  but  he  never  makes  it 
attractive.  Mr.  Ross'  dramatic  instincts  are  strong.  His  characters 
become  in  his  hands  living,  moving  creatures." — Boston  Globe. 

"  The  author  is  a  genius.  He  has  the  great  gifts  of  originality 
and  ingenuity." — Metropolis. 

"The  conversation  and  experiences  of  the  men  and  women  in 
'His  Private  Character'  are  remarkable  and  startling.  The  descrip- 
tion of  a  stormy  honeymoon  at  Montreal,  a  scandalous  supper  at  a 
New  York  restaurant,  and  the  resuscitation  of  one  of  the  heroines  in 
3pi  River  cave,  are  realistic  to  a  degree." — Sun. 


"Lovers  of  the  drama  are  talking  a  good  deal  just  now  of  the 
'Cleopatra'  debut  of  'Mrs.  John  Smith  Johnson,'  in  Albert  Ross' 
novel,  'His  Private  Character.'  The  actress,  whose  main  attraction  is 
her  notoriety  rather  than  her  histrionic  ability,  receives  a  scathing 
rebuke." — Herald. 

"Albert  Ross,  the  now  famous  author  of  'Thou  Shalt  Not,'  has 
produced  another  entrancing  piece  of  fiction  under  the  title  'His 
Private  Character.'  Though  told  with  less  boldness  than  the  former 
story,  it  is  quite  its  equal  in  absorbing  interest." — Telegram. 

"Its  interest  never  flags.  'The  inevitable  law  that  punishment 
follows  sin,  dragging  down  the  innocent  as  well  as  the  guilty,  is  set 
forth  with  a  strong  hand." — Cambridge  Tribune. 

"  As  a  tale  it  is  very  original,  one  whose  progress  never  flags,  and 
very  cleverly  constructed  as  to  plot.  It  is  clever  and  original." 

— Sunday  Times. 

"The  characters  are  distinctly  individualized,  and  the  volume  is 
absolutely  devoid  of  dull  pages." — Sw*  ^'yncisco  Call. 


HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND 

BY    .AXJBBKRT    ROSS. 


A  jTavel    Uniform  with  "Thou  Shalt 

OPINIONS    OF    THE    PRESS. 

'"Thoroughly  original." — St.  Paul  Dispatch. 
"  A  story  well  constructed." — New  Orleans  States. 
**The  situations  are  strong." — Cleveland  Plaindealer* 
"  The  author  has  decided  talent." — Cambridge  Chronicle. 

*  Many  dramatic  complications." — Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

*  His  large  circle  of  interested  readers." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  Bright  and  interesting  to  the  last  chapter." — Boston 
Courier. 

"A  first  edition  of  forty  thousand  is  being  issued.**— Nash- 
title  Herald. 

"Within  the  bounds  of  a  healthy  literary  taste." — Neu 
Orleans  Picayune. 

"  The  heroine,  Anna  Darrell,  is  a  very  beautiful  character." 
^-Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  An  interesting  story.  The  threads  of  the  novel  are  inter- 
woven very  neatly." — N.  Y.  Telegram. 

u  The  book  teaches  the  wholesome  lesson  of  the  folly  o( 
toasty  and  conventional  marriages." — Minneapolis  Journal. 

"Mr.  Ross  has  kept  within  bounds  in  this  book,  and  given 
us  a  story  that  a  person  of  sense  can  read  with  pleasure." — 
Buffalo  News. 

^  "  This  series  has  had  a  sale  of  400,000  in  two  years, 
and  yet  there  is  no  falling  off  in  the  demand."^  -Publisher*! 
Weekly. 

"  This  novel  will  be  found  entertaining  from  beginning  to 
ind.  It  is  the  best  that  this  author  has  given  to  the  public.' 
—Sunday  Times. 

"It  abounds  in  strong  situations,  thrilling  passages,  and 
that  brightness  of  dialogue  for  which  this  author  is  famous." 
•^Charleston  Budget. 

^The  author  has  had  a  larger  number  of  books  sold  in  the 
first  two  years  of  his  literary  life  thaa   any    other 
living  or  dead. "—- 


MOULDING  A  MAIDEN. 


BY    ^JLBKRT    ROSS. 
A  Novel  Uniform  with  "  Her  Husband's  Friend 


OPINIONS  OF  THE   PRESS. 

•*  A  very  charming  story." — Inter-Ocean. 

"Albert  Ross  is  never  a  dull  writer."— New  >w» 
fournal. 

"It  absorbs  one's  attention  like  a  page  of  Collins." — 
San  Francisco  Call. 

"  He  has  struck  C  ne  of  f.l  c  most  popular  veins  of  tha 
day." — Ohio  State  Journal. 

'The  interest  is  unflagging,  and  the  attention  chained 
•throughout." — Kansas  City  Journal. 

"  It  is  entitled  to  hold  a  better  place  in  literature  than 
any  of  his  other  works." — Chicago  Times. 

"  A  sensational  story,  with  strong  situations,  making  a 
vivid  narrative  to  the  end." — Toledo  Blade. 

" '  Moulding  a  Maiden  '  is  certain  to  add  to  the  wide 
reputation  of  Mr.  Ross." — Norristown  Register. 

"  Original  and  ingenious.  The  best  written  story  that 
this  author  has  yet  produced." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

**  Criticism  is  lost  on  a  writer  whose  novels  have  sold 
Jo  the  extent  of  about  half  a  million  copies  in  thirty 
months." — Louisville  Times. 

44  Nobody  supposed  that  Albert  Ross  could  be  decor- 
ous, and  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  he  would  be 
dull."—  Charleston  News  and  Courier, 

"The  growth  of  love  and  jealousy  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  development  of  ncble  traits  on  the  other,  ar2  set 
forth  as  few  authors  have  the  powsr  to  rto  it"— 


IN  STELLA'S  SHADOW. 

BY    ALBERT    ROSS. 
'  A  Norel  Uniform  with  "Her  Husband's  Friend/* 


OF  TISIHS 

Mr.  Eoss  is  one  of  the  best  novelists  of  the  day,  hii 
popularity  being  attested  by  the  sale  of  over  three  hundred 
thousand  of  his  former  productions.  The  story  is  as  strong 
and  full  of  interest  as  any  he  has  written,  and  like  the  rest, 
it  has  an  object  or  moral  enveloped  in  its  plot.  The  pub- 
lic taste  demands  a  moral  ^  nowadays,  provided  it  is  not  too 
conspicuous  and  is  dressed  in  a  fascinating  garb. — St.  Louit 
Republic 

The  ability  of  Albert  Eoss  to  entertain  the  largest  oj 
American  literary  constituencies  has  been  abundantly 
ehovvn.  But  in  his  latest  work,  "In  Stella's  Shadow,"  he 
has,  in  some  respects,  given  us  his  strongest  story 
"  Stella  "  is  said  to  be  drawn  from  real  life,  and  the  stor^ 
of  her  relations  with  General  Vallalie  will  not  perhaps  be 
an  entirely  new  one  to  many  people  in  New  Yor£  and  Ver- 
mont.— Chicago  Herald. 

Into  Stella's  life  has  been  woven  those  of  a  rich  old 
f-,entleman  and  an  impecunious  young  journalist.  The 
jonnection  leads  to  the  practical  ruin  of  both,  and  in  the 
accomplishment  of  that  result  a  strongly  dramatic  story 
has  been  built  up. — San  Francisco  Post. 

One  may  recognize  the  evident  honesty  of  purpose  of 
Mr.  Albert  Eoss  in  the  production  of  his  novels,  while 
deprecating  the  ultra-sensational  methods  whereby  he  seeks 
to  give  his  convictions  utterance.  His  study  of  Stella  is,  it 
rjnnot  be  denied,  forcible  and  impressive. — Boston  Beacon, 

A.lbert  Eoss's  new  novel  enters  boldly  into  the  secret 
life  of  Nev*  York  and  takes  for  delineation  one  of  its  excep- 
tional characters.  ,  .  .  The  fascination  of  such  a  woman, 
when  beautiful  .)nd  cultivated  and  professing  repentance,  if 
shown  with  thb  power  of  "  Thou  Shalt  Not/'  the  wonder- 
fully popular  first  novel  of  Mr.  Ross.  Jt  is  very  interest 
••off--—  Boston  Sunday  Globe* 


YOUNG    MISS   GIDDY, 

BY   ALBERT   Ross. 


Uniform  with  other  "Albatross"   Novels 


OPINIONS    OF    THE    PRESS. 

'•  Handled  in  a  peerless  manner." — Grand  Rapids  Herald 

"  An  exceptionally  fascinating  story." — Pittsburg 
Chronicle-Herald. 

11  The  story  is   well  constructed   and    the    pictures 
Southern  life  realistic." — Louisville  Times.  . 

"  '  Young  Miss  Giddy'  introduces  the  reader  to  several 
•nteresting  characters,  and  impresses  some  home  lessons 
very  practically." — Inter -Ocean. 

"  The  Southern  an<l  Mexican  scenes  show  Mr.  Ross 
racility  of  description,  and  will  undoubtedly  assist  greatly 
in  increasing  tropical  travel." — Buffalo  Times. 

"  It  must  be  acknowledged  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
mental  acumen  put  into  the  book,  some  good  character 
work  and  some  excellent  bits  of  development." — Boston 
Ideas. 

"  Dating  as  is  this  writer's  treatment  or  themes  usually 
considered  forbidden  or  questionable,  it  is  hardly  to  be 
pronounced  either  meretricious  or  coarse  " — New  York 
Telegram 

"  In  this  book,  as  in  all  the  previous  work  of  the  author, 
chere  is  to  be  detected  the  power  of  a  close  student  of 
his  kind  ;  one  who  not  only  lays  bare  but  analyses  in 
minutest  detail  the  follies,  vices  and  weaknesses  of  men 
and  women.  The  moral  is  so  plain  that  he  who  runs  may 
•aad  "—Phila.  City  Item. 

'  The  fact  is  that  Mr.  Ross  struck  the  public  fancy 
with  his  first  story  and  has  held  it.  He  has  the  art  of 
exposing  social  errors  without  making  them  attractive; 
he  know?  new  to  treat  a  subject  with  boldness  ardyet 
wit!:  propriety  ;  he  says  what  he  has  to  say  with  DO  double 
Trailing. "•-•/?o>.j£?«?  (jlofo 


THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY. 

BY     ALBERT    ROSS 


JL  Novel  FMform  with  all  "  Albatross  Novels.'* 

OPINIONS    OF    THE    PRESS. 

*  As  full  of  mcidentas  its  predecessors." — Town  Topics^ 

"The  most  read  man  in  America." — New  York  Even- 
ing Post. 

"  It  has  more  strength  and  depth  than  his  earlier  efixr  ts." 
New  York  Recorder. 

"The  most  widely  read  of  modern  novelists  is  Albeit 
Ross.  His  publishers  report  a  sale  in  three  years  of 
more  than  half-a-million  of  his  works." — N  Y.  World. 

"  Mr.  Ross  is  a  pleasing  writer  and  a  very  popular  one 
His  story  is  distinct,  full  of  interest  and  plot,  very  pleas 
untly  narrated  and  developed." — New  Orleans  Picayune. 

''The  drawing  of  John  Garston,  Alvah  Adams  and 
Colonel  Staples  is  realistic,  and  the  Iowa  scenes  have  a 
local  color  easily  recognizable  by  any  one  who  has  lived 
in  that  part  of  the  West." — Kansas  City  Journal. 

"I<i,.  Ross  has  a  happy  faculty  of  arranging  his  plots 
In  such  a  manner  that  the  reader  never  loses  interest  or 
the  thread  of  the  story.  The  purpose  of  the  author  is  to 
point  a  moral  lesson  of  the  strongest  kind." — San  Pranciscc 
'-Call. 

,  "  There  maybe  prudes  who  would  find  fault  with  th<? 
occasional  plainness  of  the  dialogue,  but  they  are  of  a 
kind  rapidly  disappearing.  If  the  reading  masses  ara 
not  the  true  critics,  we  do  not  know  where  they  are  to  be 
fcun  '.  ' — American  Bookseller. 

,  •'  That  the  author  of  '  Moulding  a  Maiden  '  and  '  Thou 
Shalt  Not '  is  attaining  loftier  heights,  the  finished  s:yle 
and  marvellous  drawing  of  peculiar  human  nature,  as  in 
the  case  of  John  Garston,  will  prove.  Mr.  Ross  has  a 
heal.  <na\.  feels  The  dreamer  and  practical  writer  hnd 
a  pacific  abode  in  his  comnosition  n 


University  of  California  Library 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


"IBS 


